


Dances in Darkness - Book 5: Amaranthine

by HigheverRains



Series: Dances In Darkness [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:43:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 261,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4392314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigheverRains/pseuds/HigheverRains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"First, and learn this well: Grey Wardens will do anything to end a Blight," Duncan had once said. She had learned it well, had made those sacrifices. She had sanctioned blood magic and the death of thousands to save Ferelden from Urthemiel.</p><p>But this...here she had a choice. She could end the cycle, bring the corruption of the Old Gods and the spread of the taint to an end. All she had to do was agree. </p><p>And the cost, paid in blood, would be nothing less than her soul.</p><p> </p><p>(Part 5 of the Dances in Darkness Series - check out Books 1-4 for the rest of the story.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann travels to Vigil's Keep to deal with the remains of the horde; Eideann recruits a few new followers and faces a darkspawn unlike any she has ever seen before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence
> 
> Comments always welcome.
> 
> This is Book 5 of the Dances in Darkness Series. If you have not read the previous books in this series, it is recommend you do so. Previous events and character arcs will be referenced throughout this work. Enjoy! ~HigheverRains
> 
> Addition: To all the guests who leave kudos or regularly return to read the next chapters, thank you so much for your patronage! I know you're there reading too and haven't forgotten you! Thanks for enjoying my story! :D

Her Fereldan Forder was a sturdy creature, surefooted and steady. She was glad for it as she wound her way down the rocky path through the tunnels just shy of Soldier’s Peak. Her original plan had been to ride immediately for Vigil’s Keep, but Soldier’s Peak had been their base of operations prior to the Battle of Denerim, and it was stocked with ancient Warden lore, perhaps lore that had been lost in the centuries since Arlessa Sophia Dryden had ruled as Warden-Commander. And there were things she needed there, of course. It was the only place she knew where she would find the black leather and grey silk uniforms, studded with golden studs on all the brigandine that distinguished them as Fereldan Grey Wardens. All the others wore the blue and silver tabards of the order and answered to the First Warden in Weisshaupt. She intended for that to change. 

Weisshaupt had sent a single man to help them in the Blight. A single man. Weisshaupt had written Fereldan from the map. And Orlais had been content to let Fereldan fall than actually act, until it was clear the Archdemon itself was dead. Yes there would need to be cooperation, that much was clear. After all, they would have valuable information to share from time to time. But that could be done in the way she shared valuable information with national leaders. Some established borders would be enforced. After all, Weisshaupt was so embedded in politics, it would be madness not to treat it as a foreign power. It _was_ a foreign power. She had never been made Warden-Commander by any First Warden. She had earned that title herself, through dedication and duty and sacrifice. Ferelden did not need Weisshaupt, and Weisshaupt appeared to have less than an interest in Ferelden. 

So the uniforms it was. She was a little glad of it, actually. They were enchanted, of course, though lightly. She gathered enough for the soldiers sent to them from Jader. All of those Grey Wardens were Fereldan born, though each one had spent a lifetime in Orlais, and their loyalties were circumspect. She planned to win them to her side. 

She was departing Soldier’s Peak with one more thing as well: the Joining Chalice. It lay within a small box Levi Dryden had packed with straw for safekeeping, and sat now tied to the back of her saddle. They had rescued it from Ostagar. 

Her journey northward had been in the company of Bann Alfstanna Eremon of Waking Sea and what remained of her longbowmen and foot soldiers, a contigent of King’s Army she had insisted be sent, and her brother Fergus Cousland, the true Teyrn of Highever, whom she had learned only a couple weeks back was alive after thinking he was dead for so long. Maker, how the world had changed.

She thought of the crown she had tucked away carefully into a velvet-lined box and stored atop the vanity in the chambers where she had slept in Denerim, and sighed. She was Queen, it was true, but this was an endeavor as Warden-Commander and as the sitting Arlessa of Amaranthine.

She was literally walking into a pit of vipers, but Amaranthine’s people were innocent. She had no doubt that the Banns that had been sworn to Arl Howe had been as slippery and treacherous as she. She was glad again that Alistair was not the one to bring them to heel. No, it had to be her.

And then there was the fact she was desperate to be busy, to be _doing_ something, and to be away from Denerim. She had honestly thought she was dying when she had seen the Maiden in the sky above her, eclipsed in the bright light of Urthemiel’s demise in what the common infantrymen were calling Cousland’s Beacon. She had believed that would be the end. 

But she had awoken some time later to find her Alistair was becoming a King and their child that had been growing within her was gone. 

She had known, part of her, all along that it was possible. What sort of would-be mother rode into battle with an Archdemon of all things, a beast of the taint and the Void itself? She had gone into that fight with eyes wide open, knowing full well what might happen. She had weighed it, as best she could, against every other life in Ferelden, and further. For that had been the choice really. End a Blight or condemn each and every one of those people to death. It really had been no choice at all.

But the fact she would make that choice again was no comfort, even now weeks after the news. She still felt weary and heartsore. And part of her blamed herself. After all, what sort of would-be mother comdemned her unborn child to death? 

Her, of course. And it was not the first time her hands were reddened with the blood of children in the name of duty. She thought a lot of Connor in those days. 

And finally, she had thought of Morrigan, who had, it appeared, made a similar sort of decision. Whereever her friend was, whatever she now carried to term, they had the pair of them contrived to sacrifice the soul of a fledgling child to the Archdemon and the taint to save a part of an Old God. Eideann did not know if it worked. It must have done, because she was alive. But all the same she counted Alistair’s child somewhere on that list of innocents that had been harmed at her hand. 

There was time yet, perhaps, for another babe to grow within her. She was young, and so was Alistair, but that unnamed babe could not be replaced. For a few months, it had been real, and even though her choice had been made on the balances of the greater good, it had cost her something deeper than she cared to admit out loud to do it. It had been necessary, certainly, but necessary did not make a decision sit well. It simply made it the right choice. Living with the consequences was the hard part.

Oh, she loved Alistair. More than she could put to words. He was hurting too, she knew, perhaps in a different way. He did not want her to go to Amaranthine, and he genuinely regretted making the Warden-Commander an Arlessa. His eyes had been filled with sorrow the morning they had parted ways. 

They still touched, from time to time, hands, or soft kisses to the cheek. Only once a real kiss, and that quick and tender and bursting with love. And he missed her, she knew. He wanted his wife back, needed to be with her, to touch her. She understood, a little, how much it cost him not to have such things. After all, they had not been together since prior to the Battle of Denerim, prior to the ritual she had made him take part in. The last touch he knew was Morrigan’s, that of a woman he could hardly stand. 

But she could not do such things in the wake of all she had sacrificed. She needed time away to think and to come to terms with that part of herself that could justify such decisions. The disconnect between logic and emotion had wrenched her heart asunder. And this...keeping busy...this would be a way to heal. 

She would go back to him. But for a moment she needed to return to herself. And the part of her who had never been in doubt was this: the Warden-Commander, the noble who maneuvered in political circles, the woman who did her duty. 

The Coastlands were calling, though the rough mountains and small rocky plains of Amaranthine were a far cry from the basalt rocks of the Storm Coast and the cliffs of Highever. Amaranthine was more Alamarri, more difficult, more cold, more…more like a little Ferelden itself than a swathe of high hills and bears and nugs and rain and fir trees. 

And it was less than a week’s ride from Denerim, all said and done. Part of her was glad she would still be close.

She checked the cart behind her was fine, and considered the small group of soldiers Alistair had insisted accompanied her. Maker, honestly, she had killed an Archdemon as thousands of men like this fell. Would she really die if she were attacked now? She was off to fight darkspawn again, after all. 

At her back, Duty and King’s Justice glowed softly in the dim darkness of the threatening rain, and she closed her eyes a moment. 

There was one soldier there who was not working as a guard. That was Ser Mhairi, a King’s Army warrior who had battled at the main gate against the horde and survived. She had come not to guard, but to join. Eideann had let her. They needed more home-grown Wardens. And Mhairi had not taken no for an answer. 

_Let the Joining decide who is worthy. I will not turn anyone away,_ she thought, because she could not afford to. Even with the group from Jader, there were only a handful of Grey Wardens in Ferelden, both reigning monarchs included, and frankly she was too tired to bring down another Blight on her own.

Something was leading the darkspawn, but the darkspawn were divided into warring factions. She did not like to think what that may mean, or how that was possible. To be divided, they would have to think. To choose from two leaders, they would need to decide. She did not like the idea of thinking, decision-making darkspawn. 

_Maker smite the little fuckers from the face of the earth._

She felt a dull pain at her stomach and moved a hand to press down her armor there, closing her eyes a moment and trusting her horse to lead. Outside of her immediate friends and family, no one knew about her miscarriage, and she had no intention of telling anyone. But sometimes that dull ache was still there, the feeling of things slowly returning to normal. She drew a deep breath and then moved her arm away, bearing the pain, because she had no other choice. 

They slept in small tents, just like they always had done during the Blight, because there were precious few towns between Soldier’s Peak and Vigil’s Keep, and the farmholds were already struggling under the weight of fleeing refugees. Eideann had hoped that the Coastlands would not be touched by the darkspawn, but of course that was a foolish hope. Even with Soldier’s Peak standing watch over the Deep Roads and the Coastlands alike, the darkspawn horde had fled northward, and there were Deep Roads entrances none of them knew of. The dwarves had lost so much, and the only maps of any sort of accuracy where her own for now. There were lost Thaigs no one even remembered, and the Coastlands, with its basalt formations and sturdy stone footing, made the formation of thaigs both easy and expected. Those were tunnels that could last for thousands of years, unoccupied, before time and the moving of the earth finally brought them crumbling down. 

She dreaded to think of what lay beneath their feet. If the information was correct and there was possibly a nest somewhere below them…

She fixed her eyes on the road and forced the thoughts away.

First things first, how could she win over the Wardens that were stationed in Vigil’s Keep now? After all, she was the Warden-Commander, but they had certainly all served far longer than she. Yes, she had killed an Archdemon, but mostly that was luck and determination alone. If she was going to get these Wardens to work with her, for her, she needed their respect, and a willingness to trust. And if anything, she knew that Wardens were grim-faced at the best of time. She was a different sort of Warden, the sort that would probably never have been given any significant rank. They knew things she did not, had information she needed. 

She had to win them over to her side.

Vigil’s Keep was another thing. She had no idea how she would sleep in that castle. The last time she had been there was when she was twelve, during some diplomatic sort of soiree. Vigil’s Keep was an ancient fortress, older than Highever Castle, built by the Alamarri themselves long ago. And it was the ancestral home of the Howes. All the people there would be against her, excepting the Wardens themselves who were at best neutral for the moment. She would have to haunt those halls. 

The more she thought on it the sicker she felt. Until finally she had to focus on the soft breeze and the sound of birds in the air to distract herself. 

She would work it out. Somehow. She had to, after all. She was not a young girl of twelve anymore. She was the Queen of all of Ferelden. She could sleep in a house.

She hoped.

The journey from Soldier’s Peak was only a few days. The wagon slowed them down a little, and the rain made the North Road muddy and thick with filth. It was the same road they had taken south when they marched at last on Denerim. She did not want to be reminded of that, so she focused instead on what was to come. 

Vigil’s Keep appeared on the horizon, nestled against the mountains, not long after the dawn of the third day heading eastward. It was an imposing building. And through the rain it took on a sinister sort of air. Eideann, under her Warden cloak, hood pulled up about her ears, ushered the group onward, but one of the wagons got stuck in the muck with a broken wheel. So she told them she and Mhairi would go onward and send back help from the cartwright at the Vigil. She hoped there was a cartwright at the Vigil, or at the very least a blacksmith. 

All good castles had blacksmiths. 

As they rode towards the Vigil, however, a sense of foreboding came upon her. It was not her Grey Warden senses that set her off so much as her tracker ones. She was more than experienced hunting the Coastlands, after all, and they were never so quiet. Never. Especially not this close to a town.

She slipped from her horse, wary, and Mhairi drew up short, staring at her.

“Your Majesty? Commander?” She slowly slipped from her horse too and Eideann bent to fasten her Forder to a fence railing, peering about. And then, cautiously, she reached for Duty and King’s Justice at her back, and drew them in a slow ring of metal emerging from sheathes. They glowed, runes sparkling in the rain, and she narrowed her gaze.

“Something is wrong. We go ahead on foot.” Mhairi drew forth her own sword, face a mask of worry, and followed without a word.

“What’s going on?” Mhairi asked quietly as they approached the main path to the Vigil. “Why are there no Wardens here to greet us?” Eideann shook her head. She had never needed a formal greeting, of course, but this was indeed odd. Not the lack of a welcoming party, but the lack of anyone at all. The village around the Vigil was empty. The whole place felt deserted.

She twisted her grip on her swords a little, making sure the blades were held fast in her hand. 

There was a sharp scream that cut through the air and she stared up towards the gates to catch sight of a man in worn leathers sprinting as fast as he could from the Keep. He had a mace in his hand, a silly thing of iron, barely enough to keep a rat at bay. And on his tail were genlocks.

And she could not sense a thing. 

The man reached her, shot past her, and she moved, picking up the steps of the dance like she had not been crippled the past few weeks. Her blades swung round, taking off the genlock’s head, and the other ran straight into Duty, spearing itself. She kicked it off and turned, blades arcing, to cut through the final darkspawn, and then she glanced up to the Keep and then back to the man who had fled. He was shaking as he stared at her, then the darkspawn, then back at her.

“It’s you,” he finally said, recognition dawning. “The Hero of Ferelden, oh thank the Maker!” She motioned to the darkspawn with one of her swords.

“How did this happen?” she said quickly. 

“I don’t know!” he insisted. “They came out of nowhere! All I heard were screams and people dying. I got out as fast as I could and ran into these…” His eyes tracked to the darkspawn and he froze, unable to even put words to the genlocks. And then he finally snapped out of it and looked up. “You need to help them,” he told her fiercely. “You need to do something.”

“Are any of the other Wardens alive?” she asked him, forcing him to meet her gaze. He did a moment, then glanced back.

“I think there was a mage right behind me,” he finally said. “He might have been a Warden. I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I’ll see if I can’t find some help. There has to be a patrol on the road.” 

“The rest of our company is five minutes east,” Eideann said, stepping aside. “Tell them to leave everything. I need their help.” The man nodded and then hurried off down the muddy road. Eideann glanced to Mhairi.

“We don’t have a lot of time, Commander,” Mhairi said, as if Eideann did not already know that. But there was something trouble about all of this.

“The darkspawn,” Eideann said quietly, “launched a sneak attack. That’s unheard of.” 

“This isn’t a Blight. How could they be so organized? I don’t understand.” Mhairi stated flatly, trying to puzzle it out, but she did not realize exactly how troubling that was. Mhairi was not a Grey Warden, not yet. She knew nothing about sensing the darkspawn. And even with them dead at her feet, Eideann could not sense any more, despite evidence there certainly were more within. She felt blind. She knew shrieks could surprise without warning, mask the Song. But this…

Perhaps it was because of the Archdemon? Things had been blissfully quiet in her head since. But…she did not know. She narrowed her eyes.

“Something else is leading them,” Eideann told her simply, and rolled her shoulders. She felt a bit stiff after weeks without training or practice. 

“Other than an Archdemon you mean?” Mhairi asked. Well, she certainly hoped it was something other than an Archdemon, because if a second one just happened to be lurking in Ferelden a few days up the road from the first, Eideann was going to just kill everything. “Frightening thought,” Mhairi murmured and shifted her shield on her hand.

“Alright,” Eideann said darkly. “Who is in command here?” Not her, obviously, the other one. Mhairi sighed.

“Varel, the Seneschal. He’s the Keep’s steward, I believe, working for the Wardens.” 

“Right. Then we need to find out what has happened to this Varel. Especially if the other Wardens are dead.” She could not tell. So she flipped her blades over in her hands and then moved along the path. 

Well, she had wanted distraction, to be kept on her toes. Beggars could not be choosers.

Vigil’s Keep was surrounded by a wooden wall, but as they moved into the outlying village, Eideann was confused by the lack of damage done to the outer walls at all. It was as if the Keep had fallen defenseless. Perhaps because of the darkspawn. But then, why had they not met any darkspawn out on the road before? And where were all the Wardens meant to be manning the Keep? Even if they had not sensed the creatures, even if that was not just an affliction affecting her, the scouts should have seen the force coming. 

But there was nothing, only darkspawn, more and more, like the Keep had fallen some time prior. But that man had only just emerged screaming, so it had to have fallen sooner. None of it made any sense at all.

There were shrieks in the village, and an ogre that roared and charged them. Eideann leapt clear and then swung herself up onto its back by its horns, stabbing it until it lay dead and she could leap clear. What was an ogre compared to Urthemiel itself? Maker…she should be worried. The day killing darkspawn began to feel easy was the day she should feel like walking into the Deep Roads and never coming back. 

Further into the village, they finally found some of the resistance, guardsmen bearing the Howe bear that were fighting desperately for their lives. Eideann pushed aside the thoughts of Highever from a year past and dove in, hacking through the darkspawn that threatened those men. 

“Qu…Queen Eideann?” one of them asked as she finished off a hurlock and left him free of attackers. She heard Starkhaven in his voice and blinked. He gave her a soldier’s salute, fist over heart. “I’ll be at the front gate, your Majesty,” he said. “If you find others, send them to me.” And then he hurried off towards Vigil’s Keep proper, which sat upon the hill above them. Eideann climbed the stone steps embedded by time into the hill and found Vigil’s Keep defended by wooden walls. A great wooden gate was all that stood between the keep and the outside world. Vigil’s Keep was old, but it had always been occupied by one force or another. It had been among the first to fall to the Orlesians, though, and did not have a reputation as being particularly defensive. That, at least, would need to change. 

The sound of grunts and roars echoed out across the Keep, but the Keep gates were shut tight. She narrowed her eyes and shook her head. 

As she approached they burst open, but it was not Vigil soldiers that poured out. Instead it was darkspawn that poured out onto the terrace. Maker, she wanted her ability to sense them back. She gave a curse, shielding her eyes as the gate splintered. And then she did a quick check of what she was dealing with.

“Mhairi, take out the henchmen!” she cried and herself sprinted forward as fast as she can, hurtling towards the emissary. And she cursed for a moment she had no Templar with her to break its spellcasting with a smite. It was simply a race between its casting and her speed now. 

She slammed into it not a moment to soon, hauling around Maric’s sword and beheading it on the ground, and then she looked up to see another ogre bearing down on her.

“Blighted…” she spat, half finishing the curse, and swung about to catch it before it could catch her. 

She wished for Angus in that moment, to barrel it down, topple it over, or tear at its ankles and hold it back. But Angus was back in Denerim, watching over Alistair for her. She had told the dog to do the job properly, to do it just for her, whispered it in the darkness before the low embers the night before she had left. Angus had whined, but he had been hurt in the Archdemon fight. And she did not need to injure him more. Anyway, he had taken to Alistair a great deal, even answering his commands now. And she wanted to know at least someone without dubious ulterior motives was keeping her man safe while she was gone.

She was alone, however, against the ogre, until Mhairi came hurtling into the Keep square. Together they harried the creature, until Eideann managed to get in a good strike, whirling and tossing Duncan’s knife as hard as she could. Her aim was true. It took the beast down, spearing it through its eye. She did not wait for it to react further. She slammed Duty through its skull and watched the creature fountain blood and die. And then she retrieved the dagger, tucked it back into the small of her back through her belt, and turned towards the Keep.

The darkspawn were within the Keep, behind the shut doors. She shook her head. They had come up from somewhere within the Keep itself. Vigil’s Keep had to stand somewhere over the Deep Roads. She shuddered to think it.

She found a large detachment of wounded soldiers near the Keep portcullis and helped to tend some of the wounded as quickly as she could before pressing on. They needed supplies, but they were down the road in her wagons, and the darkspawn were still a threat. She left them to tend one another, assured they were at least safe from more darkspawn behind the outbuildings where they were hiding, and she herself went forth into the Keep, eyes cold and narrowed. The darkspawn had made this personal, by attacking from within, and if it were true and no Warden could sense them then the others here had not stood a chance. 

This was calculated, and intentional, and she did not like what that meant. Even Mhairi had worked out that much as they climbed the steps into the barbican.

Maker, what she really needed was a mage. What she would not give for a Morrigan or a Wynne right there and then. Two against however many darkspawn were in the Keep? She grimaced.

“Unbelievable,” Mhairi hissed as they caught sight of the fires burning within the barbican. “The Keep has been overwhelmed!” 

“Mhairi, how many Wardens were here?’ Eideann asked shortly. The warrior shook her head.

“Not many. A dozen perhaps?” she said with concern. “There were other soldiers who came with them, however. But for the darkspawn to have ambushed the keep so effectively…I didn’t know they were capable of such a thing!” Eideann shook her head, sighing. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she said grimly. “We will defeat them.” Mostly because the alternative was death, and she was not in the mood for death today. 

“I hear you, Commander,” Mhairi said softly. “You can count on me.” Eideann nodded, then stepped further into the barbican, trying to work out where the controls for the interior portcullis stood. The gatehouse was locked, so she descended the steps because the door had been blocked and barred from the other side, and looked for another way round. Gatehouses always had two entrances, just for such occurrences. She saw it on the other side, chambers that went back into the Keep walls, and pointed to Mhairi. And as she dropped down the last few steps, she heard the sharp hissing of Shrieks, and whirled about.

They came at her at once, all five, claws raking through the air in an attempt to reach her. Some left gouges down her right cheek, and she spun about, wild and dangerous, swords swinging deadly through the air. 

Now she was angry. She hurtled through them, blood splattering, and cut them to pieces, rage in her cries. And then they were dead, and she stood, covered in darkspawn blood, considering how that was her new normal now, and sighed. 

“That way,” she finally said, pointing to the opposite door, and Mhairi just took the steps up without another word. 

The climbed the steps in a hurry, Eideann taking them two at a time. Every minute delayed was more people dead within. She did not even check to see if the door was unlocked. She just kicked through it, and then came to a skidding stop at the sight of what was beyond. 

The floor was strewn with Templars and darkspawn, and at the center, wielding white-hot flames, was the mage that the man at on the road had mentioned. She paused, eyes narrowed, to consider him, as he turned, waving his hands and drawing a deep breath.

He caught sight of her then, and stopped dead in his tracks, then look back.

“Err…I didn’t do it…” he said quickly, and she realized he meant the Templars. After all, she wasn’t going to scold him for killing darkspawn. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not broken up about them dying to be perfectly honest.” In all honesty, she did not care much about the Templars in that moment, though she was certain that would be an issue later. She wished there were one to challenge emissaries, but a mage was more use to her in those moments, and she thought perhaps this man was the Warden mage who had dealt with Urthemiel’s body. She had never met any of them, so she could not be sure. “Biff there made the funniest gurgle when he went down,” the mage added, motioning to one of the dead Templars. Eideann considered it a moment, then turned her Cousland Blues back onto the mage. 

“And who are you supposed to be?” she asked flatly. He smirked, shaking his head.

“You may call me Anders, my dear Lady,” he told her with an air of arrogance. “I am a mage, and sadly a wanted apostate.” Eideann drew a breath. Mhairi behind her made a noise of protest.

“An apostate? At Vigil’s Keep?” the warrior said. Eideann did not even silence her with a look. She just considered Anders. Even an apostate was better than nothing in those moments. And there were a fair number of darkspawn dead before him. 

“You weren’t here when we arrived,” Anders said, considering them both and then coming forward. “I’m sure I would have remembered such a…lovely woman as yourself.” His eyes were on Mhairi who just gave him a dark glare. “We were just stopping here on our way back the Tower. Just a short rest they said, and now they’re dead,” he said, waving back at the Templars. “Such a shame.” But he did not sound even remotely torn up over it.

_Morrigan saved your life,_ Eideann caught herself thinking. _And after all you have seen, can you really believe the Chantry stories about darkspawn coming from Magisters?_

No. She did not know what she believed. Not anymore. But it was not so simple as capture and enslave all the mages. She knew that much. She had seen the devastation those shackles had brought at the Tower, and she did not blame this apostate for trying to escape in the middle of such madness. After all, what other chance would he have?

She sighed.

“So, you’re not a Grey Warden,” she finally said. “You’re an apostate.” 

“That’s what they call someone who doesn’t believe in being chained up in the Tower,” he told her, giving her a dark look. “So yes. I suppose I am. They captured me and were taking me back, and then…you know…darkspawn attacked. Could be a sign, yes?” There was a hopefulness in his voice as he considered her. She just grimaced.

“A very convenient sign,” she muttered, then glanced to the darkspawn again. They had wasted enough time there.

“Isn’t it though? The Maker moves in mysterious ways.” Anders looked back at the Templars, and then back to her and nodded. “Well, tell you what. I’ll help you, and we can discuss what comes later later once all these bastards are properly put down. Yes?” Eideann simply motioned them onward, so Anders fell in step with them as she stepped over the bodies and out onto the battlements over the Keep gate.

She saw a little of what he was made off as they emerged onto the battlements to discover a small collection of servants trying desperately to hold their own against the darkspawn. Eideann hurried forward with Mhairi, charging for the darkspawn line even as the small barricade the servants had erected splintered. Anders’ magic burst forth, bright and flaming, raking through the darkspawn and sending them hurtling backwards. Some fell from the gate. Others were charred. Eideann and Mhairi finished off the rest, and the servants trapped out on the battlements thanked them breathlessly. Anders simply looked them over, and Eideann was relieved to see he was a Spirit Healer as Wynne had been. The gift that kept giving, it seemed. A mage when she had just been so desperate for one, and now a Spirit Healer too. He checked the servants, who all seemed fine, and then ushered them down the steps behind them.

“Get to safety,” he told them. “Quickly.” So he was only anti-Templar then. Eideann glanced to him and he met her gaze but said nothing, so instead they just pressed onward.

The gatehouse was on the other side of the battlements, and they had to kill a few more darkspawn to get through. As they emerged into the barbican again, Eideann felt the floor shake and heard a familiar voice cry out from down on the barbican floor.

“Oh we’re scared now!” it called as darkspawn raced through the now-open portcullis leading into the castle proper. “Don’t come over here! Ha!” The darkspawn charged, and then there was another shaking and a burst of searing hot flame that knocked Eideann from her feet. For a moment she lay there, dazed and confused, and then she forced herself up, dizzy, to glare across the barbican where the dwarf was running for his life. Bits of darkspawn littered the chamber, and the stone itself was fractured. That, at least, explained the blasted fires inside the keep. “It’ll take more than that to kill us, beasties! Come again if you dare!” the dwarf cackled madly in retreat.

“Maker take you, Dworkin!” Eideann spat. “Must you destroy every Keep I inhabit?!” She had meant it more for herself, but Mhairi gave a groan, rising beside her.

“Andraste’s grace, you know that dwarf?!” she spat.

“Steer clear of him,” Eideann said darkly, and then shook her head. Anders seemed alright, though he had hit his head against the wall from the blast. Mostly, she was just annoyed at the foundational damage that may have been done. She had felt the force of his explosives at Soldier’s Peak, after all, and she had heard stories that Sten had made liberal use of them in the defense at the Denerim gate. She had seen herself what a mess that all was. She grimaced. “Come on,” she said coldly. “The darkspawn came from inside the Keep. We have to reach the source and put an end to this madness before Dworkin blows up any more buildings.” 

The interior of the Vigil sported ancient architecture, Theirin banners by the plenty, and the corpses of servants slain by the darkspawn who had seized control of the corridors. And yet there were still some…fighting…and that gave her hope. 

It was easier to fight the darkspawn in smaller corridors. She may have less room to weave, but they could not overcome her small party with sheer numbers when they were packed into tiny corridors.

She was going by memory alone, the memory of a twelve year old girl at that, in trying to work out where she was and where to go next. Somehow she found her way through the chambers to the second story, where the corridors curved steadily and ran around the twists of the mountain itself. She still could not sense the darkspawn, but she was done worry about such a thing now, since it was apparent to her that the heart of it was somewhere in the Keep itself. Assuming, of course, the foundational damage caused by Dworkin’s bombs had not sealed off the entrances they were using, at least for a time.

It appeared that that was indeed the case, actually, the more they climbed the corridors. The darkspawn became less and less, as if the source had been sealed. But there were still enough to cause them trouble, and without being able to sense them almost every corner became a potential ambush. 

They took each chamber carefully, clearing the ancient fortress room by room, until they were tired and weary and Eideann wondered how many more there truly were. And that was when they stumbled into someone she had never thought to see there in her wildest dreams.

She burst into a chamber, perhaps a study, swords ready, and cut down the first darkspawn that came at her. Someone was fighting further up in the raised half of the chamber, before the fire. She cut through the second darkspawn and then glanced up, before blinking at the sight of who it actually was.

Oghren, battleaxe in hand. He turned only a moment from sundering the darkspawn to give her a grin and a wave. 

She was at his side in an instant, diving into the fray, forgetting all about Anders and Mhairi. She drove forward through the darkspawn, and together they cut them down. 

And then Oghren sauntered towards her, a smirk cutting across his face.

“Aha, there you are,” he said, eyes full of warmth. The stench of alcohol still clung to him, like always, and made her eyes water a little. “When these darkspawn showed up, I thought ‘just you wait until the new Commander gets here and you’ll all be spitting teeth out of yer arses.’” Eloquent as ever. “I followed the screaming, and sure enough, here you are. Good on you,” he told her. She gave a soft laugh, still half-believing it was real at all. But there was no mistaking that dwarven charm.

“Odd place for you to just show up,” she said, looking him over. He gave a snort of laughter.

“ _You_ just showed up. I’ve been here for almost a week now,” he told her. “Came here thinking I might try my hand at becoming a bona fide Grey Warden. 

“I can’t believe the Wardens didn’t kick him out,” Mhairi said darkly, and Eideann glanced to her with a raise eyebrow, shaking her head.

“Wey-hey,” Oghren grinned, leaning back against the railing that separated the two halves of the room. “If it isn’t the recruit with the great rack…”

“Oghren,” Eideann said warningly. 

“Yes,” Mhairi snapped. “A prize for the Wardens, to be sure.” She did not sound impressed. Eideann could not blame her.

“I know, I know,” Oghren grinned. “Too good to be true, right?” He chuckled to himself a moment, then considered Anders at Eideann’s back. “Who’s the mage? Boyfriend? Should I leave you two alone?” Eideann drew a breath, but Anders simply snorted.

“Wow! I dwarf that smells like a brewery! You never see that _anywhere_ ,” the mage said sharply. Eideann smirked. Oghren pushed up from the wall.

“Heh, a mage comedian. Thought those normally died young.” Eideann shook her head, and then bowed it a little. 

“It’s good to see you again, Oghren,” she said, because any friendly face was something, and with the other Wardens missing or dead, Maker…

Oghren had faced Bownammar with her, when only Shayle, Angus, and Alistair had. Oghren was made of sterner stuff. And Oghren had held back the horde at the gates. His life serving in the King’s Army had apparently not been enough. His heart drew him to the darkspawn to the fight the dwarved had always fought. And he was good at it. 

“I find that hard to believe,” Anders said sarcastically.

“As do I,” Mhairi added. Eideann ignored them. What did they matter? Instead she clapped Oghren on the shoulder.

“Let’s go introduce some darkspawn arses to my foot,” Oghren said with a grin. “Only polite thing to do.” 

“Indeed.” 

For a little while, climbing the keep, it was almost like old times. Too many different old times. A mish-mash of memories that did not belong together came colliding inside her head.

But there was duty, that purpose under it all, so she drove onward into the chambers beyond, until at last they reached the main stair. And there, at the bottom, in a pool of blood, was a Warden recruit. 

He stirred at their approach, bloodied and battered, and Mhairi gasped and hurried forward.

“M…Mhairi?” the recruit asked in a worn voice, too much effort even to speak. Mhairi knelt at his side, eyes wide.

“Rowland! Commander, Rowland was a knight recruited from Denerim like me. We must do something for him!” Her eyes were desperate as she met Eideann’s eyes, but Eideann could see the blood on his skull, in his ears, down his neck into his armor, and all across the floor. She glanced towards Anders, who simply shook his head. 

“He looks beyond healing magic,” he said quietly, confirming her suspicions. “Maybe a shot of whiskey for the pain?”

“I like the way you think,” Oghren said darkly, crossing his arms and shaking his head too. 

“Stop joking!” Mhairi cried angrily, hand catching Rowland’s. “This isn’t funny.” 

“The Commander?” Rowland finally breathed, turning his head slightly to hers. Eideann met his gaze. If she had not gone to Soldier’s Peak. If she had sent for things instead…could she have stopped this? She did not know.

“I’m here, Rowland. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.” That was all she could say. It was not enough.

“We only had a moment’s warning before they were on us, Commander,” Rowland gasped, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. “The Seneschal ordered a counterattack. But they came out of nowhere! There’s one with them!” She could hear his breathing hitching, rasping, as blood filled his lungs. “A darkspawn who talks! Ah! His magic is powerful!” 

_What?_

“A talking darkspawn?” Oghren said sharply, as confused as she. Never had she heard such a thing. Was it even possible? The whispers in the Blight were not even words. Not to hear. When they did become something intelligible, it was a sign a Warden’s end was near. She shook her head. “The lad must be delirious,” Oghren muttered, turning away. 

Rowland gave a cry, panting hard, trying to breath, trying to do anything.

“There’s something…in my blood!” he cried. Eideann darkened. “It hurts!” Eideann came forward, crouching before the lad.

“Recruit, where is this talking darkspawn?” she pushed. It was the last thing she needed to know. There was nothing she could for the burning in his blood. That was the Blight itself. The boy was dying. 

“It…went…that way…after…the…Seneschal…” Eideann drew forth Duncan’s dagger and slit the man’s throat, feeling hot blood pour over her hands before she stepped back.

Mhairi bent over the body, tears standing in her eyes.

“I will avenge you, Rowland,” she murmured. “I swear it.” Eideann pushed past her, a hand gentle on her shoulder only a moment, and then climbed the steps towards the parapet. 

The rain was cutting sharp at an angle as she stepped out onto the roof, blades in hand. Her eyes were dark and narrow. Her heart set into stone. Lightning tore through the sky high above their heads, illuminating for one moment all of Amaranthine before them. And then they were plunged into the darkness that threatened to douse the bonfires that burned to light the Keep.

She led her small band across the battlements, determination and anger in her walk. As she rounded a corner to the front of the keep, she saw a pair of darkspawn, bent over who could only be the Seneschal. 

Eideann stepped forward, eyes full of fire, and gritted her teeth. And then the darkspawn looked to her, smiled with its crooked, rotten grin, and spoke.

“It has ended. Just as he foretold.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann ends the assault on Vigil's Keep; a familiar face shows up to help; Eideann puts the new recruits through the Joining; Eideann meets her staff at Vigil's Keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence, sex (explicit)
> 
> Comments always welcome. :)

For a moment, she thought perhaps she had imagined it, a darkspawn speaking. It was unreal. But it crossed the walkway to where another hurlock held her Seneschal hostage, a blade to his neck, and she followed it with her gaze burning cold fire.

“Be taking this one gently,” the speaking one instructed. “We are wishing no more death than is necessary.” Trapped in a difficult place between sacrificing her Seneschal and killing the darkspawn, Eideann looked between them, heart pounding. Surely this was not real.

“Necessary?” Seneschal Varel bravely said. “As if your kind has ever done anything else.” Eideann gripped her sword tighter and stepped forward before her group onto the tower parapet. 

“You are thinking you know of our kind, human?” the darkspawn said, grinning. Or maybe it just had no lips to cover its crooked fangs. “It is understandable. But that will soon be changed.” 

“Will it?” Eideann asked darkly, and the creature looked up to her. 

“It _is_ talking,” Anders said, though to be fair none of them had actually believed it.

“Well let’s shut it up already,” Oghren spat.

“Commander,” Seneschal Varel pleaded. Her eyes slipped to him as a peal of thunder rolled across the highlands.

“Capture the Grey Warden,” the speaking darkspawn said simply. “These others…they may be killed.” Eideann shook her head with a twist of a sneer.

“I liked it better when you didn’t speak,” she spat, and drove into the melee as the hurlock holding her Seneschal released him to come instead for her. It was headed off by Oghren, who went barreling into the creature, taking it out at the knees. And Mhairi was not soon behind him, sword singing through the air. But it was the glowing blades of Duty and King’s Justice that sought the blood of speaking darkspawn. Eideann went in for the kill, pulling none of her punches. 

It was armed with a wicked blade, a cruel crescent that was unlike anything she had seen from darkspawn before, unless they counted the totems they erected wherever they happened to make their homes in the deep. She ducked it, careful of its strange reach, and forced her weight into her left swing, stepped back around to catch the creature unaware. It gave a roar as blades found flesh, parting darkspawn armor like it were nothing. And then it cackled and brought up its shield to batter her away. She almost fell backwards, but a roll brought her back up, until she stood, circling the creature. Just like she had once circled Loghain. 

Irony that, perhaps. Or simply history repeating itself in another form. She had heard that happened a lot after all. She whirled inward for another match, and their blades met in a clash of metal. 

And then hers slid through. 

She kicked at its ankles, toppling its balance, and it stumbled backwards.

But she did not get the chance to finish it off. That was Mhairi, who skewered the creature from behind. Her blade seemed to grow from its heart, and it died on her steel. She shoved it away, and glared coldly at the corpse before sheathing her sword.

“That,” the recruit said in a voice filled with venom, “was for Rowland.” Eideann gave her a nod, then sheathed her own swords and turned back to Seneschal Varel.

He was picking himself slowly up from the flagstones, groaning at the stiffness in his back. 

“Commander,” he said in a soft voice. “I owe you my life.” She simply shook her head, and checked he was alright. He seemed fine, armored in silverite plate and chain as he was, a single pauldron on one shoulder which he adjusted with a gauntleted hand before retrieving his fallen sword. It scraped along the flagstones, and he eyed it up a moment before sighing. His skin bore the wrinkles of a life hard lived, and his hair was a slate grey that was half held back in a tail beside his head. His beard reminded her of Duncan’s. 

He considered the others behind her, then the Vigil itself, eyes scanning the grounds below for witnesses. And then he peered into the distance, and sniffed.

“Ah,” he said. “Soldiers on the road.” Eideann looked out and caught sight of royal guardsmen and a few battered Vigil soldiers coming down the road, but it was more than she remembered. She grimaced, turning back towards the door. “It seems we have more company. Hopefully,” Varel said quietly, “they’re more hospitable than our previous guests.” 

He followed her down back through the keep, where she simply kicked her way through the darkspawn corpses littering the hall. There would be time enough to deal with that now the immediate threat had passed. 

By the time they have navigated the Alamarri maze that was the interior of Vigil’s Keep, the soldiers marching up the road, and who had apparently rescued her wagon and her Forder, as well as Mhairi’s steed, had just about reached the main gate, for all it was a mess and in pieces now. It appeared a handful of Templars also marched with the group, heavy with steel armor over the usual soutane and scapular that made up their Chantry robes. 

At their head, in the Grey Warden Commander armor that matched her own was Alistair. 

She did not have time to be angry at him for showing up. She did not have the energy either. And given the mess in the Keep behind her, she was not entirely angry really. But she did heave a sigh, and as he approached, she gave a soldier’s bow. 

Mhairi was down on one knee in an instant, and shortly after so was Seneschal Varel, which put them both at about Oghren’s height. 

Alistair came towards them across the courtyard, eyes scanning the desolation, and then finally he fixed his eyes on her.

“It looks like I’ve arrived a bit late,” he said softly, rain plinking on his armor. She just gave him a flat look and he sighed. “I wanted to come and give you and the other Wardens a proper welcome once you had the time to settle in. I hadn’t expected you’d detour to the Peak first. When I found your guardsmen standing by your cart, and when that man came running out from Vigil’s Keep, I knew I’d find you in the middle of trouble, as always.” She sighed and let her fist drop from her chest before helping Seneschal Varel rise. Mhairi got up on her own. “I wasn’t expecting this,” Alistair admitted. “What’s the situation?” 

“What darkspawn remained,” Seneschal Varel told him, speaking for her, “have fled, Your Majesty.” She could have said as much. Did the man think she needed to talk to her own fiancé through him? Maker’s breath! “The Grey Wardens who had arrived from Orlais appear to be either dead or missing.”

“Missing?” Alistair gave her a worried look. They had never found Duncan or the others at Ostagar either. She wondered if they were connected. 

“I know only that we cannot account for all the Wardens,” Seneschal Varel said simply. Alistair sighed. 

“I see,” he said quietly, considering her again through the rain. “And how about you, love? You weren’t badly hurt, I see,” he said, but his gaze flickered to the scratches down her cheek. She sighed.

“I’m fine, Alistair,” she told him quietly. “But this makes things difficult.” With no Wardens save her at the Vigil, excepting of course Alistair himself, the entire plan to see the order rebuilt and let the more experienced Wardens take point had been made moot. She had to win over Amaranthine and defend it alone. 

“That’s a bit of an understatement, isn’t it?” he asked her gently. His molten gold gaze met hers and he heaved a sigh. “You have quite the task ahead of you,” he grumbled, as if it were him meant to do it instead. “Really, I’d like to stay, help you fight the darkspawn, but you are on your own for the moment,” he told her quietly. She nodded. 

Beside her Oghren made a sound of protest.

“Hey! What am I? Chopped nug livers?!” the dwarf snapped. Alistair smirked slightly at him. Behind her, Anders gave a snort of laughter.

“From the smell,” he mused, “that’s not a bad guess.” 

“I came here to join the Grey Wardens,” Oghren insisted. “And from the looks of it, you could use the extra hands.” Eideann smiled slightly. “Now where’s the giant cup?!” the dwarf demanded. “I’ll gargle and spit!” 

“You’re not allowed to spit,” Eideann said simply, shaking her head. “But I won’t turn anyone away who is willing to step forward.” 

“Ha!” Alistair raised an eyebrow as Oghren grinned. “Well smack my ass and call me Sally! I’m in!” Mhairi, sounding less than pleased, grumbled her congratulations. Eideann glanced back at her. She’d be broken of that soon enough. Being a Warden wasn’t a hero’s life after all. It was a death sentence in the end. 

Alistair just shook his head and sighed, but he was smirking again. 

“Joining the Wardens, eh?” Anders grinned. “Well good luck with _that_.” The Templar beside Alistair stepped forward, scowling, and pointed at him with an accusing hand.

“King Alistair!” she declared, ignoring Queen Eideann right there, presumably because King Alistair was an ex-Templar and more inclined – at least in her eyes – to agree with what she said. “Your Majesty, beware. This man is a…dangerous criminal.” 

“The dwarf is a bit of an arse,” Alistair said simply. “But I wouldn’t go _that_ far…” 

He had taken part in enough blood magic himself that he was not going to rat out an apostate now. Eideann knew him better than that.

“She means me,” Anders said in a miserable voice, glaring daggers over Eideann’s shoulder where he was hiding behind her.

“This is an apostate who we were in the process of bringing back to the Circle to face justice!” the Templar said.

“The Circle doesn’t appear in any condition to accept any mages at the moment,” Eideann said softly, “at least not when we last saw it.” The mages had not even been there, nor the Templars. They had rallied for war instead. A few weeks would not be enough to time to put the Tower to rights again, even if Dagna’s brilliance was there to help. 

“Oh please,” Anders sniffed. “The things you people know about justice would fit into a thimble!” He glanced to Eideann. “I’ll just escape again, anyhow…” The Templar woman glowered.

“Never!” she spat. “I will see you hanged for what you’ve done here, murderer!” Eideann sighed, looking up into the raining sky a moment and prayed for the Maker’s own strength, if he was willing to give it. 

“Murderer?!” Anders spat. “But those Templars were - !” He bowed his head, brows knitted. “Oh, what’s the use? You won’t believe me anyhow.” 

“It seems,” Alistair said quietly, “there isn’t much to say.” But his gaze slid to Eideann quietly. “Unless you have something to add, Commander?” Eideann met his gaze, and smiled ever so slightly, seeing the look in his eye. 

After all, Alistair had been conscripted away from the Templars himself. And Eideann had almost been conscripted when she wanted to stay and fight. 

“I do,” Eideann told him. “I hereby conscript this mage into the Grey Wardens.” 

“What?!” The Templar woman spat, turning her ire on Eideann now. “Never! How _dare_ you!?” Alistair’s eyes went from warm and sparkling to cold as ice in an instant as he stared her down, stepping a little between them. 

“I believe,” he said archly, “that the Grey Wardens still retain the right of conscription.” There was a dangerous undertone to his voice. “I will allow it.” The Templar glared at Anders a moment, then turned her face away.

“If…if Your Majesty feels it is best,” she muttered.

“Our Majesties believe it is, yes,” Alistair said for both their sakes. “The Queen is fully within her rights to conscript into the Grey Wardens whomever she needs.” The Templar gave them a cowed look, then turned away pushing her way through the others and heading down back along the road. 

Oghren gave a soft chuckle.

“Ha, way to go, kid. Welcome aboard,” he told Anders.

“Me?” the mage said. “A Grey Warden? I guess that will work.” Well, either he would be of use to them or he would die. The Joining would tell. Mhairi just heaved a sigh.

“Congratulations, ser mage,” she said woodenly. “I look forward to fighting at your side.” She sounded anything but. Eideann did not care.

Alistair glanced up a moment at the sky, and then sighed.

“I suppose,” he said, “we had best get this place presentable at least before we go?” He motioned to the guardsmen, some of whom were pushing the broken cart she had left behind forward through the mud. “Unless you would rather I left you, love?” She shook her head. How could she turn him away? And he nodded before taking a step forward and carefully tilting her face in his hands to take a look at the scratches raking her cheek. She winced as his fingers pulled at her skin a little, but then he pulled back, shaking his head.

“Nasty, but they’ll heal. They make you look rather roguish really.” She gave a soft laugh, and then turned back with a sigh towards the Keep itself. 

“First things first, we need to burn the bodies. It will be difficult enough sleeping in this place without the darkspawn on top of the rest.” 

“We have prepared the old Arl’s chambers for you, my Lady,” Seneschal Varel said, but Eideann quickly shook her head.

“No. I will _not_ sleep there.” 

“But – ”

“Absolutely _not_ , Seneschal!” Eideann said sharply. Seneschal Varel blinked, and then gave a slow nod.

“Then…if you have a preference.”

“There was a room in the guest wing when I was a child where I stayed, green drapes, green carpets, a small fireplace. Is that room still here?” 

“We will have it prepared, Your Majesty,” Varel said after a moment of considering her. “But that is a small chamber, nothing befitting an Arlessa, much less a Queen.” 

“Maker’s blood, Varel, I’ve been sleeping in a tent most of the past year. That is the bed I want.” So the Seneschal nodded, and then glanced to Alistair.

“Will his Majesty be staying – ?”

“He will be staying with me.” She said it so abruptly it was out of her mouth before she even realized it. Alistair glanced to her, eyes gentle, giving her the opportunity to change her mind, but it was a bit too late now. And anyway, she did not want _him_ sleeping in the Arl’s chambers either, which was exactly where he would end up, she knew. 

“So be it,” Varel said with a nod. “I shall attend to the staff and soldiers, if your guardsmen will help burn the beasts. And Commander, you shall need to replenish your numbers. If it pleases your Majesty,” his gaze turned to Alistair, “we will make the preparations for these recruits tonight.” Alistair simply gave a nod. He was the Constable of the Grey after all, and Eideann nodded her thanks to the Seneschal who motioned to some of the guards to follow him.

It took them hours, in the rain and the muck, to clear out the bodies and pile them up to burn. Anders set the corpses alight after the vials of darkspawn blood – more than they needed so she had some on hand now she needed to recruit – were collected. Alistair watched him warily, he had been a Templar after all, but mostly left him alone except to exchange a few pleasantries.

By the time evening came, the surviving staff had put the house back into some semblance of order, though blood still stained some of the carpets and the entire place was emptier than it should have been. With the fires in the kitchens now once more alight, they set about cooking venison and vegetables. Amaranthine’s farms had been relatively untouched by the Blight, and they still had stock to spare. At least they would eat well. 

Eideann and Alistair stood in the main hall then, as Varel prepared the Joining Chalice, the very same they had brought from Ostagar. Alistair had a cool stare, arms crossed beside her. Only two had survived his joining, a year and a half now past. 

Only she had survived her own. 

Varel came forth to stand before the great fire that crackled in the center of the wooden hall, banners fluttering in the heat and warmth. He paused before Anders, Mhairi, and Oghren and nodded. 

“The time has come for us to begin the Joining,” he said quietly. “Before we begin, we will speak the words that have been said since the first.” Eideann held out her hand, stopping Varel. It was not his place. Instead she reached for Alistair’s hand, and he took it before nodding. And together they intoned:

“Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you.” His fingers closed tight about hers as Varel stepped forward. The last time this had happened was on the eve of Ostagar, before King Cailin’s war council and their entire lives had been altered forever. 

“From this day forth, Oghren,” Varel said, holding for the Chalice to the red-haired dwarf, “you are a Grey Warden.” 

“What’s this?” Oghren grumbled. “The sampler size? Are you trying to say something about my height?!” Varel blinked, and Eideann smirked a little, turning her head to hide it from the recruits.

“This is the goblet they’ve always used,” Varel said, a little taken aback. Alistair gave a soft chuckle beside her. Well, at least it was not just her. 

“Really?” Oghren muttered then drank a swallow and sniffed. 

His eyes rolled back, into his head, but he did not fall. Instead, he just let out a belch, and smacked his lips.

“Hmm,” he said. “Not bad.” Eideann made a face of disgust and Varel glanced sidelong to her.

“Maker help us all,” he despaired. Alistair just laughed again as Eideann shrugged it away. It was good to hear him laugh. How long had it been? 

Varel sighed and then turned next to Anders, holding forth the chalice, and repeated the words for him. Anders took one look at it and then drew a deep breath. 

“So we need to drink darkspawn blood?” he asked hesitantly. “That’s it?” 

“A bit more than just darkspawn blood, but yes…you get the idea,” Alistair told him.

“Well, alright,” the mage sighed, “but if I wake up two weeks from now on a ship bound for Rivain in nothing but my smallclothes and a tattoo on my forehead, I’m blaming you.” He sighed and took a deep swallow of from the chalice.

“I didn’t realize Captain Isabela was here,” Alistair murmured to Eideann and she tried again not to smile. Maker, the man was insufferable. This was meant to be a difficult and dangerous ritual! She elbowed him and then schooled her smile from her face.

Ander’s eyes also rolled back, and for a moment she worried he would end up like Daveth. He fell backwards, and Varel leaned over him a moment before sighing.

“He lives, Commander,” he reported. “He will awaken in time.” Eideann thought of the calling of the Archdemon she had experienced and wondered, with the Blights gone, what it was the recruits might dream instead. She had never asked Alistair, and now did not seem the appropriate time. So she simply gave a quiet nod, and Varel moved on to Mhairi.

The woman was eager, ready and willing, and as Varel spoke the words again, she reached for the chalice and nodded to herself.

“I have awaited this moment,” she declared, quietly, as though to herself, and then closed her eyes and drank.

And died. 

She fell to coughing, drowning in the taint that set her blood afire, and Eideann forced herself to watch, to not turn away. She thought of Daveth and swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry, Mhairi,” she whispered and Alistair squeezed her hand again. And then it was done. 

“May the Maker watch over you now,” Varel murmured, setting aside the Joining Chalice. 

They waited then, by the fire, for Oghren and Anders to wake up. Oghren was definitely out cold now. He had fallen onto his face sometime in the middle. There was nothing to do but wait, however. So when they finally did begin to stir, Alistair drew forth the Warden pendants for them both and together they finished the ritual, this time without Varel, who had gone to tidy up the Chalice and necessary reagents. 

Eideann took them then to the boxes they had unloaded from the wagon inside the Howe armory, and there got Anders and Oghren kitted out with proper Fereldan Warden Armor. Alistair oversaw Mhairi’s pyre, and they stood together afterward to say their last farewells. 

When it was done, the hour was growing late, but there still seemed so much to do. The servants at the Vigil finally served them dinner, a hastily prepared fare, but she forgave them. She had not been expected to eat anything but salted meat and poor ale anyway after the fight they had had to reclaim the place. 

She met only a few of the staff, but most of them were still busy and about, so it turned into a rather informal, small dinner, all said and done. They ate quickly and quietly, and then one of the servants told her that a bath had been prepared for her in the chambers she had requested. Since she was covered in mud and had spent the day battling darkspawn, she almost cried with joy.

She retired then to the guest wing and the small chambers she had asked to be hers, and Alistair went with her. 

He sat in a small chair near the fire at the far end of the tub, carefully cleaning off his greaves which were still covered in mud. Eideann carefully stripped off her own armor, which he promptly took to work on as well, despite her protests, and then she stood, watching him work, watching him in only her Warden tunic. 

“Don’t look,” she told him quietly. He glanced up a moment with a teasing smile, recalling the last time she had told him that.

“You can’t either,” he told her, jokingly, and then turned his attention back to their armor with a small smile.

She carefully slipped out of her tunic, and then stepped into the bath. It was wonderful, and piping hot, and she felt it ease tension she did not even know she was carrying. She sank neck-deep into the water, and gave a sigh, closing her eyes. 

And then carefully opened one and glanced to Alistair. He was not looking, as she had said, but the firelight danced in his hair. She considered his profile, the Theirin jawline and nose, and his beautiful amber eyes. And she sighed a little at the sight of him.

She couldn’t stop staring. She drank it in. 

And finally he felt her watching him, and carefully glanced over, eyes soft and careful in the firelight.

“I thought you weren’t allowed to look,” he murmured, but the words were lost in something else. The air between them seemed to burn, a soft slow burn, like a flickering candle. She shook her head, unable to speak, and he carefully lowered the gauntlet he was polishing to the floor at his feet and rose. 

He loomed over her as he came about the metal bathtub before sinking down into a crouch by her side. She carefully reached up from the water, feeling it trickling and running down her arm, and pulled loose the buckles that fastened his breastplate. He let her, not moving, until it came free, and then he carefully set that too aside. For a moment they only looked at one another, and then her fingers crept under the grey silk tunic, parting the sides with her hand, and she set the palm of her hand flat on his chest, leaving it there for a moment. She could feel his heartbeat under her fingertips, beating a soft rhythm she could almost feel echoed in her own. And then, carefully, he leaned forward, brushing a hand into her hair, and kissed her, tenderly, softly, carefully, his lips brushing hers in the dim firelight. 

Something eased. 

His mouth gently skimmed away, kissing the corner of hers and then tracing the line of her jaw tenderly, until she could hear her own breathing above the crackle of the fire. She closed her eyes and sighed softly, and he gently set his forehead against her hair, pausing a moment, and let out a low, shaking breath which tickled a little and rustled her hair. She turned to him and he met her gaze and then he put a hand on hers where it still lay over his heart.

“Maker,” he breathed, lips parted, and she carefully pulled them back to hers. He caught her fingers between his own, lacing their hands together, and she gasped a soft sigh as he carefully rose, drawing her from the bath. 

He scooped her up into his arms, bare and dripping, regardless of the water that soaked into his tunic, and kissed her again. It was like she weighed nothing at all.

“Eideann,” he breathed, sinking back into a seat on the bed, with her gathered in his arms on his lap. She gently unwove their fingers to bring both hands up and pull his face up to kiss her own. And then she shifted, straddling his thighs and meeting his golden gaze. 

"Alistair…” His fingers slid along her back, up her skin, and he tilted his head back a little so she could kiss him more. His hands stroked lines of fire along her flesh, warm and loving and…

His right hand slipped along her thigh before stopping to hold her there, and she leaned into another kiss as his other hand rediscovered her body after so long. 

If either had spoken another word, the moment would be lost. So they listened to the heavy breathing, quick and fast. They felt the warmth of fire and love. They tasted desire until it sang in their very blood.

She pushed him back, and carefully reached to untie the sash that kept his tunic closed. He watched her shaking fingers work, until he reached to gently catch them and kiss the fear away. And then he sat up enough that his tunic slipped off his shoulders and she could take him all in. 

And then, gently, he pulled her down into another kiss, before guiding her over to her side. Her thigh wrapped over his waist, as he kissed everything else away. 

She heard the laces of his leggings and reached to feel the heat of him there. His breath hitched at her touch, and he stiffened in her arms. For a moment neither of them moved, and they simply met one another’s eyes.

“We don’t have to…”

She silenced him with a kiss, desperate, tears pricking her eyes. She wanted…oh she wanted…everything that was, all the things they could not reclaim. But this…this she could have.

She pushed his leggings out the way, and then guided him against her, until suddenly he was there, pressing within her, an ache so intense she felt the tears slip through her eyelashes. 

It had been too long. It made her sore. He felt too big inside her. And yet, that feeling was not wrong. She wanted it as well. He slowly parted her until he could go no farther, and they waited, Joined, and he met her eyes. She saw the tears that stood then in his own as well, and gave a soft sob. He sank the fingers of his free hand deep into her hair, pulling their foreheads together. And then he pulled back enough to kiss her, desperate, loving, hers. 

Alistair. 

His other arm was wrapped tight about her, holding her so close they should melt together. Perhaps they were? 

She could not think. She could not see. She could hardly breathe.

He went slow, achingly slow, easing out the barest amount before gently rocking back in. It was barely a movement at all, but it was there, within her, setting everything she was aflame. She gave a soft cry, burying her face in his shoulder, and he bent about her, stroking her hair and murmuring words of love and kindness she could not quite make out.

And then it was easier. Her body slowly welcomed him home, slick and warm, and he moaned softly into her hair as she pulled closer to him and let herself drown. His arm slipped from her hair, down her back, to her thigh and he began to move in earnest now, panting softly himself. She wrapped her arms tight about him, feeling him going faster now, and felt the tears on her cheeks damp against the flesh about his collarbone where she had buried her head. He simply clung to her, as tight as she to him, until she looked up to see his face contorted in passion and need. And then he opened his eyes to meet her gaze, never once stopping, and she felt something else ease inside her, give in, fall apart. He tensed under her arms, and she felt his warmth fill her, and she shuddered in his arms, as something pulsed through her in waves, pulling them closer together. He gave a cry, burying his face in her neck now, her hair, and she held him as they lay together in the afterglow, trying to catch their breath. 

And then she wept, tears of sorrow and joy both, something she could not describe. And he wept too, stroking his fingers through her hair and laughing softly through his sobs. 

“Eideann…” he breathed when they could speak again, though his voice was a little hoarse, and they were both quite breathless. “Love…I’ve missed you…” His voice was catching a little as he struggled for the words. She simply shook her head.

“I know,” she breathed, lifting her face to kiss him softly, hoping that would be enough to get everything between them across.

It was. He gathered her closer into his arms, still tangled together, still within her, and kissed the top of her head.

“Maker, now we’ve got the blankets damp,” he told her with a soft laugh through his receding tears. She just laughed as well, surprised and caught off guard, and then shook her head, burying her face into the blankets with a sigh.

“It doesn’t matter,” she told him in a soft murmur. She felt sleepy. It had been such a long day. He simply nodded and shifted then, and she mourned the loss of him as he slipped free of her to rise and rinse them both clean. And then he tucked her into the blankets, which were not anywhere near as damp as he seemed to believe they should be, and crossed to break the logs apart so the embers would die down in the grate. 

“All we’re missing is Angus,” he said with a small smile as he poured a small glass of wine from a pitcher the servants had left along with the bath. He took a sip and then came to join her in the dim light of the dying flames. He pushed himself between the blankets and she immediately wrapped herself about him, determined not to let him go. And for good measure she stole a sip of the sweet wine too, relieving him off the burden of the goblet. It was blackberry and honey on her tongue, Coastland make that made her homesick for Highever. She drank deeply, suddenly desperate for more of that flavor, and then turned her face into his shoulder, where he simply sighed and settled back against the headboard.

“I need to tell you about today,” she finally said, a low groan breaking her lips, and he gave a soft sigh beneath her. She heard a gentle laugh bubble up through his chest, and glanced up to find him giving her a wry look. 

“You’re very good at bedside manners,” he told her with a smirk. She simply scowled at him a little, then shook her head.

“I’m serious.” He shifted a little, taking back his wine so she could not finish it all, and nodded.

“Alright then,” he finally sighed.

“It talked.” His gaze narrowed a little, and considered her.

“What did?”

“The darkspawn that led the raid. And they came from within the Keep, meaning there’s an entrance into the Deep Roads somewhere underneath I have to find. They only stopped because bloody Dworkin Glavornak is here. Remember him?”

“The one who nearly blew the foundations out from the Peak? Who could forget him? That would be dangerous.” He sighed. “Sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you, love. I wish I could stay.”

“I’ll manage,” she murmured, and he nodded.

“I know. It’s what you do. But what _I_ do is look after you, and I don’t like that I can’t stay.” She simply shook her head against his shoulder.

“The Bannorn is a mess. They’ll be squabbling over whatever land the darkspawn haven’t tainted. And Denerim’s still a wreck, even now. Not to mention the foreign dignitaries…” 

“Kirkwall has sent us grain,” Alistair said hopefully. “Might even be able to feed them all soon.” She smiled slightly. Good. That was good news. And then she sighed.

“In any case, I’ll handle things here. You will be needed back in the capital.”

“At home?” he asked her softly. She just looked up then, eyes dark, and met his golden gaze, which was thick in the dim light. 

“Home is wherever you are, Alistair,” she finally told him. “My home is with you.” He just bent his head to kiss her and she stole the last of his wine while he was preoccupied. He pulled back, breaking the kiss, and shaking his head.

“Minx,” he murmured, and then sighed as she finished off the wine, much to his chagrin. Maker, it tasted like home.

“Alistair,” she asked, smile slipping a little. He glanced to her with concern, hearing the worry in her voice. “Can you sense them? The darkspawn?” He blinked then looked up a moment towards the embers in the hearth. 

“I could before,” he finally said, “but now you mention it, when we approached the Keep, I couldn’t sense a thing. There must have still been some around, fleeing into the Deep Roads, and if you were fighting until we reached the road I should have been able to before.” She simply nodded and then reached to set aside the goblet atop a low vanity that sat alongside the bed. 

“I thought maybe it was something wrong with me.” He simply shook his head as she turned away, bundling down with her in the blankets and the darkness.

“No, love. It’s something else. There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

“I’m glad you were here today,” she finally murmured, feeling him snuggling into her back. “I…I missed you. I still need to do this myself. I still need to have this time to think. But…I’m very glad you were here with me today.” He was quiet a moment, unmoving, and then finally bent forward to press his lips against her bare shoulder in the darkness. 

“I love you, Eideann.” She sighed into the darkness.

“And I love you,” she breathed.

***

Alistair left early the next morning. When they woke, some of the old sorrow was between them again, rekindled in the morning, but there was a new light there too, and for that she was glad. That was something she could carry forward. They dressed in silence, and broke their fast on a small meal of eggs and cold pork in the dining hall before it was time to go. 

Alistair left half his guardsmen with her to rebuild the infantry that had manned Vigil’s Keep. He kissed her goodbye, carefully, and then bade her farewell with a promise to see her soon. She stood and watched him ride out from the gates with what remained of his guard, heading back south towards the capital to deal with the rest of the endless list of Things That Must Be Done.

The clouds threatened, but it did not rain, and that at least was something. Eideann, wrapped in her Warden cloak, in armor Alistair had polished the night before, went forth to meet her people.

Seneschal Varel was waiting in the hall for her. He greeted her with a soft smile and a good morning and then held forth a letter, seal unbroken. She studied it a moment, mood darkening, and then took it and tore it open. The seal was the mark of Weisshaupt. 

_”The nominal leader of our order is the First Warden, but you can expect little assistance or guidance so far from the Anderfels. Even those close to Weisshaupt learn to suffer alone. The murmurs are true – the First Warden is often embroiled in the politics of the Anderfels and has little opportunity to consider worldly matters. I would like to believe it is a matter of survival, not of political self-interest._

_Know that your mission is vital. You carry the hopes of our order. If the highest among us holds noble titles outside the Anderfels, perhaps we will be better situated when the next Blight comes, as we all know it must._

_~ Warden-Commander Dernheim of Weisshaupt.”_

Eideann promptly tore the letter in half and tossed it into the flames in the center of the hall to burn to ash. Varel watched her, a little surprised, and she turned on him.

“Ferelden will not answer to a foreign lord, and I am not at the beck and call of people who would have gladly seen us burn,” she said frankly. “I will not take orders from Weisshaupt, and I will not be part of their politicking either.” Noble titles, little assistance…Maker, she was done with that nonsense before it could begin. Or…perhaps not.

The doors opened and the Captain of her guardsmen and a woman with grey hair styled into braided buns on either side of her head entered, mid quarrel. 

“The Commander must be informed about the Deep Roads entrance,” the Captain was saying. “It could be their base of operation.” Eideann glanced up to listen as they crossed to join them. 

“You’d have the Wardens chase a rumor then, Captain?” the woman asked in a soft voice hard with the steel of judgment. “And even if it proves true, unless the Pilgrim’s Path is clear by the time your army assembles, they’ll have nothing to eat but shoe leather.”

“Alright, enough,” Eideann said, cutting them both off short.

“To business then,” Seneschal Varel declared, clasping his arms behind his back. “Orlais sent a dozen Wardens to the Vigil to await your arrival. Nearly all died in the attack. But Kristoff is still in the field.” Eideann’s heart gave a leap. One might be left alive? The value of that…She calmed herself with a deep breath. 

“Alright,” she said, “where is he?” Seneschal Varel sighed.

“The Orlesian Wardens were uneasy that the darkspawn weren’t going to ground with the Blight ended. Kristoff was sent to track down some leads.” He looked between the other two of her staff, then shook his head. “A fortnight ago, he left in a bustle. As best we figure, he went to the city, Amaranthine.” Eideann’s heart sank a little.

“Did he reveal anything of what he found?” she asked, crossing her arms. 

“He did,” Varel admitted, “but not to me. The Wardens keep their own council.” Eideann narrowed her gaze, pushing her irritation aside. That was another thing she’d be readdressing at some point. 

“Amaranthine is not a small city. How will I find him?” 

“There’s only so many places travelers visit,” the Seneschal mused, stroking his beard. “I’d check the inns and taverns, if I were you.” Eideann nodded. As good a place to begin as anywhere. She focused then on more pressing matters, those at hand, and glanced to the Captain. “This is Ser Garavel,” Varel introduced, “the new Captain of the guard.” 

“I have a matter to bring to your attention,” Garavel said sharply, wasting no time.

“Good,” Eideann replied, “because I have another to bring to yours. What do you know about the darkspawn attack on the Vigil?” Garavel grimaced.

“My predecessor, Captain Rollins, and much of the senior staff were inside the Keep proper at the time. How they met their fates is unknown. All we know is darkspawn swarmed the Keep.” Eideann nodded, eyes narrowed.

“I need to know where those darkspawn came from, Captain. I have reason to suspect we may not be entirely out of danger.” Garavel nodded, confirming her suspicions. He appeared to have considered the implications of an attack within the Keep as well.

“I talked with the dwarf Voldrik earlier. It is his belief, and I concur, that they came from the Keep itself. The deep cellars go very deep indeed. Voldrik suspects the darkspawn found a hidden route into the Keep.” 

“When Dworkin set off his bloody explosives, he may have done us a favor, but there could still be pockets down there. I want that looked into, Captain.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“And this Voldrik…”

“He’s Dworkin’s brother,” Captain Garavel told her. “He was part of the number hired by Seneschal Dryden to help reinforce Soldier’s Peak.” 

“I want to speak to him as soon as possible about the fact this bloody Keep is surrounded by wooden walls. That can’t continue. I need something that won’t faint clear away the moment it even sees an ogre. Do you hear me? Vigil’s Keep has to be able to withstand an attack from outside or in.” Captain Garavel gave a soldier’s salute, she had overwhelmed him so. She sighed, stepping back and considering him. “Now, tell me about this Deep Roads entrance.” 

“The Orlesians…Wardens, I mean…began gathering information while they were here. The most promising lead they found was a wild tale a couple of hunters told.” Eideann urged him to continue. “These hunters, Colbert and…well…the other one...claimed to have stumbled across an entrance to the Deep Roads. Darkspawn all over the place, they said, and this was _before_ the fiends appeared throughout the whole Arling. The Wardens were just about to send someone to track down Colbert.” Eideann nodded, glancing away and biting her tongue to hold in a curse.

“Where is he?” she asked instead. Captain Garavel sniffed.

“We had news they were in the City of Amaranthine,” he replied, “probably amongst the refugees outside the city gate.” Wonderful, refugees massing outside the city gates as well. She grimaced and then sighed before glancing to the final member of staff waiting for her turn to speak.

“Alright, and you are?” she asked a little curtly. There appeared to be a great deal left to do.

“A pleasure to meet you,” the elderly woman said in clipped tones. “I am Mistress Woolsey, sent by order of the First Warden at Weisshaupt.” Eideann narrowed her gaze to stare at the woman. “I’m to act as treasurer to the Arling of Amaranthine. He believed local men could not be trusted for this post.” Insult to injury. Seneschal Varel felt the cut of it and glared as well.

“One of those local men is right here, Mistress Woolsey,” he said darkly. The woman simply considered him down her nose a moment.

“I have every confidence in the Vigil’s loyalty in the matter of arms,” she said simply. “But gold corrupts even the most resolute soul.” She turned her gaze back to Eideann who simply gave her a dark look.

“You’re from Weisshaupt?” she asked quietly. Mistress Woolsey gave her the ghost of a condescending smile.

“Not Weisshaupt itself,” she replied curtly. “I am from many places.” Which was just a nice way of saying, yes she was from Weisshaupt. “I go where the Wardens command.” Eideann crossed her arms and turned her face away. Mistress Woolsey pursed her lips. “Ser, the Arling is on the brink of economic collapse. Trade _must_ flow. Merchant caravans are being systematically attacked somewhere along the Pilgrim’s Path. It is the only route that can reliably provision an army, feed a city, and maintain civilization.” Well at least in that they were in agreement. The Pilgrim’s Path was the lifeblood that sustained Amaranthine and Denerim both. She would need that cleared quickly for both their sakes. She suspected bandits perhaps, and bandits she could handle. Just set Oghren on them, and the smell alone would kill the lot. 

“There is a trader, Mervis, whose caravans have been hit particularly hard. He may know where upon the road the darkspawn, or whatever they are, are striking,” Mistress Woolsey told her simply. Eideann sighed, and then glanced to the woman with a simple look.

“I’ll make this clear, Mistress Woolsey. You appear to all eyes to be a very capable woman. If you wish to remain here and assist, I will welcome your financial acumen and advice. Your assistance will prove invaluable. But if you do stay here, you will not be answering to the First Warden any longer.” Mistress Woolsey’s eyes narrowed a little. “I’m no fool, Mistress Woolsey. The First Warden sent a bureaucrat, when what we clearly need are more Wardens, and he did this after leaving us to battle a Blight alone. I am not a forgiving woman, as you may imagine. The last owner of this Keep found out that much. The First Warden is not a friend to me, and I do not answer to Weisshaupt. If you are going to stay here, you will work for Fereldan’s Grey Wardens.”

“The Fereldans are a proud people,” Mistress Woolsey said carefully. “They are proud of you especially. Had the First Warden sent foreign fighters, it would have caused great distrust amongst the locals. Varel was specifically chosen as Seneschal because he commands great respect here.” Eideann’s eyes drifted to Varel who simply sighed and shook his head. 

“I imagine you are the best at what you do, Mistress Woolsey, whether that be controlling a network of trade routes, or controlling a network of spies. But you work for me, or you leave. Those are your choices.” Eideann knew an agent when she saw one. Something flickered through Mistress Woolsey’s gaze a moment, and then she gave a small smile, genuine, like she were proud.

“Commander, I am at your disposal.” 

“There is one more matter that needs your attention,” Seneschal Varel said, cutting in. Eideann glanced to him. “Awhile back they caught a thief in the Vigil. It took four Wardens to capture him. Gave one of the Wardens a black eye, he did. Half joking they said he might make a good recruit.” He sighed. “Given the number of Wardens is so low…I imagine you may want to see for yourself if this is someone we can use.” Eideann sighed, then wet her lips.

“Where is this thief now?” she asked, and Seneschal Varel met her gaze. 

“He’s in the dungeon, Your Majesty.” Eideann nodded, then let her hands drop.

“So be it. I’ll take a look. Captain, see if you can’t find me Dworkin. Mistress Woolsey, Seneschal.” And with that she bid them good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...it never made sense to me that Alistair came all the way from Denerim to say hi, bye, and then go all the way back. Why the hell would he not just stay and help for the day? Seriously... So in this version, he does, because that makes actual sense. 
> 
> The sex scene was not actually originally intended, but it just accidentally happened, meaning it had a bit of natural timing to it I couldn't deny ...so enjoy... ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann goes to speak with the thief; the Grey Wardens visit Amaranthine and learn some interesting news; Eideann assesses the general situation of the people of Amaranthine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: none
> 
> Comments always welcome :)
> 
> Thanks for reading and for being patient :D

The dungeon was little more than a small basement a few steps below floor level with a single cell and bright lighting. Eideann took the stairs slowly, considering the place.

_The Arl of Denerim had a bigger dungeon,_ she thought bleakly, and wondered how exactly Rendon Howe had managed without rows upon rows of cells heaped with tortured souls. 

As it was, she was glad that there was only one cell. She had no intention of keeping prisoners. She would deal with them swiftly and fairly, and that was that. But this thief…the one who had almost bested four Wardens…that was something different. 

The guardsman looked up at her approach, coming around the counter where he had been sitting in a rickety chair.

“Ah, Commander,” he said, giving her a small salute. “Good thing you’re here. This one’s been locked up three nights now.” He motioned behind him dismissively, scowling. “Good men died while this one was protected in his cell.” 

Eideann came forward, gazing into the cell itself, and her rainy Cousland eyes came to rest on the prisoner himself. 

She vaguely remembered him from many years ago, though his face had grown more angles over time, and he was taller, darker. It was a man’s face now, not a surly boy still rebelling his way through puberty. His hooked nose betrayed him as his father’s son, and his sharp eyes reminded her for all the world like a falcon. But there were angles to his face now that spoke of Bryland blood, and she drew a quiet breath.

“Leave me to talk to him,” she said softly. The soldier considered her, wary, then nodded.

“As you wish, Commander,” he said after a moment. “I’ll tell the Seneschal you came. He’ll want to know what you decide to do with this man.” He gave another soldier’s bow and then turned for the door. Eideann waited until it had closed behind him before glancing back to the man in the cell.

He sat against the far wall, wrist resting atop on propped knee, watching her with cold eyes. 

“If it isn’t the great hero,” he finally said, but he didn’t move. “Conqueror of the Blight and Vanquisher of All Evil. Aren’t you supposed to be ten feet tall with lightning bolts shooting out of your eyes?” His voice was mocking. Eideann simply sank back against the wall across from the cell and crossed her arms, considering him. For a moment there was only silence and then he gave a mirthless sneer and pushed himself up, coming forward to rest his hands against the bars and stare at her with that unnerving gaze. 

His hair was black and long, braided back out of the way, though a few strands had escaped. Beneath his mouth a dusting of a beard hid a Bryland chin. 

“Here to kill me?” he finally asked. Eideann smiled slightly, a half-smile of irony.

“I could ask the same thing,” she replied. It surprised her how level her voice actually was. Her prisoner’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head.

“You kill my father,” he spat. She just met that gaze full of rage.

“And he killed mine,” she replied quietly. All of that was done.

“So, what then?” the man asked, pushing back from the bars and tilting his head arrogantly. “Death for treason?” 

“No.” 

She took him in then, every part of him, his rough leathers – not the attire of a noble son. He seemed thinner than she remembered, which was strange as she had last seen him when he was around sixteen before he had been squired in the Free Marches. She focused on the Bryland features, his mother’s features, because they were safer. There was a smattering here or there. His eyes…they were softer than Howe eyes. They were Bryland eyes. They were the eyes of one who knew and despaired at the world in loss. But the color was all Coastlands and hate. 

“It was understood,” she told him softly, “by most of the Bannorn that you enjoyed your time as a squire. Why did you leave the Free Marches?” He gave her a sneer, turning away angrily.

“A Grey Warden murders my father and then runs our name through the mud? Ser Rodolphe wouldn’t have kept me as a squire if I had tried to stay, and I was not going to impugn upon his honor or that of his lords. You ruined that. You.” He reached to run a hand over the stone wall with a grimace.

“So you’ve come here for revenge, is that it?” Eideann asked him darkly. He glared at her.

“I came here…” His gaze dropped away and he glanced a moment to the stone walls before hanging his head a little. “I thought I was going to try to kill you, to lay a trap for you,” he finally said. “But then I realized I just wanted to reclaim some of my family’s things.” He looked back to her. “I realized I just wanted something to be normal again.”

“I know,” she told him simply, pushing up from the wall. He sniffed.

“Don’t talk down to me like you’re all high and mighty, Cousland.” Eideann simply raised an eyebrow.

“Just how much do you actually know about your father?” she asked him, a tinge of anger in her voice she struggled to keep down. 

“If you’re asking whether I knew what he was up to, the answer is no!” he said fiercely. “Look, I don’t know what happened with the Couslands. It sounds like it was horrible. The entire war was.” He had not even been there, so he was one to talk. She simply turned her face away, pacing across the room back and forth before the cell. “Whatever my father did, however, shouldn’t harm my whole family. The Howes are pariahs now! Those of us left.” He gave a wild laugh. “It’s all thanks to you. And now you get to decide my fate. Ironic, isn’t it?” Eideann shook her head.

“Perhaps you should be working to redeem your name,” she said coolly. He just smirked, shaking his head.

“You’re right,” he said sarcastically. “I’ll go join King Alistair’s service immediately! He’d be certain to give a Howe another chance, don’t you think, Cousland?” She turned to him, giving him a flat look.

“It’s Cousland-Theirin actually,” she told him simply, “but since we’ve known one another so long, I think we can forsake the formality and go by first names. Don’t you agree, Nathaniel.” He glared at her and she drew close, wrapping her hand about the bars and standing not a pace from him. 

“Eideann Cousland was a wild brat, and not much has changed,” he told her coldly. “Was it worth it?” She fixed him with her rainy stare.

“Do you want to know what ‘happened to the Couslands’, what your father did? As Fergus rode off to war with our men at King Cailin’s behest, your father set a trap. He waited until we all slept, and then in the dark of night he set fire to Highever Castle and butchered every man, woman, and child inside, except for me. I became a Grey Warden because I sold my life to the Warden-Commander in exchange for my mother’s. She died anyway. When I next saw your father, he was in a dungeon. A _real_ dungeon. He had taken a number of captives, and tortured them all. And when I met him blade to blade in the darkness, he told my father died watching him make my mother kiss his feet.” Her voice was like ice. He glared at her.

“My father was a - !”

“Your father was a bastard, and we both know it,” she cut him off. “Do you think your Uncle did not know about the way he treated your mother? Do you think he ever in his entire life treated Delilah as anything but the same? We are all well rid of him, you included. No one will thank you for trying to avenge him.” She turned about, throwing up her hands. “So here you are, Nathaniel, a thief in your own home, plotting to assassinate the Queen of Ferelden. What am I to do with you? Answer me that?”

He simply watched her, face a mask of anger and indecision and confusion. So she considered him a moment and then shook her head.

“So it comes to this,” she finally said, voice softer now. “How long until this cycle starts again? I won’t let it. The choice is yours, Nathaniel.” He glared, motioning to the bars.

“What choice?” he spat. “I’m in your prison.”

“I need men. Good men. I need men who will stand for what they believe in. I need men the people here can respect and believe in. I need someone who knows these streets, these people. I need someone who knows that there are greater things at risk than just this petty blood feud left between the children of sorry men.” She looked to him. “Help me. Help me stop the darkspawn from swallowing Amaranthine.” Her eyes slid away. “Or if you cannot work with me, beg for death, and perhaps I may, as Queen, even grant it.” He was silent a moment, then his face twisted into a moue of distaste.

“Are you planning on conscripting me if I ask for death?” he asked her frankly. She just gave a mirthless smile.

“You are _not_ my enemy. _You_ never were. The darkspawn are, and those who wish to harm Ferelden. If you ask for death, I will grant it, but I do think it would be a waste. After all, who is left to redeem the Howe name if not you? Thomas is dead of Blight-sickness, and I have had no word of Delilah.” She simply sighed. “I am not saying it will be easy. Enough bad blood exists that it may well be the most difficult thing you have had to do. But I think that the Vigil is not whole without a Howe in Amaranthine.” 

He was watching her with guarded eyes then, and finally he sighed.

“How long must I serve?” She simply met those Coastland grey eyes, Bryland softness and Howe severity as one. 

“A Warden does not swear an oath. A Warden simply is. If you walk away, I will not stop you. But one day you will walk back. We carry a duty that cannot be foresworn.” He simply crossed his arms, suddenly seeming smaller than he was under the weight of those words that fell like a bell clapper in a cathedral.

“Why are you doing this?” he finally asked, and she simply sighed, crossing to the counter and pulling for the cell keys from a hook within.

“Because,” she said softly, fitting the key into the lock under his watchful eyes. “Whatever your father did should not harm the whole family. I believe, however much you might think me a liar, that there is something in the Howes worth saving. You are not my enemy.” She turned the key and then swung the cage open and left it there, striding towards the door. “You are free, Nathaniel. Go or stay, the choice is yours. I will be in the courtyard when you decide. I have more important things to do than hunt thieves, like hunting down the darkspawn that still live in your keep for one.” She put her hand on the door and pushed. 

“Cousland…!” She paused, and he took a moment before finally drawing a deep breath. “Amaranthine will kill you, you know. I can’t…I can’t leave it defenseless without a single Warden when it does.” She simply glanced back, beckoning him with a tilt of head.

“Come on,” she told him simply, and then stepped out. He climbed the steps behind her, eyes uncertain, and stepped out into the overcast sky of Amaranthine.

Eideann ignored him then, crossing instead over the square where Captain Garavel and Seneschal Varel were standing surveying the walls. At her approach, they turned, and then Varel’s eyes narrowed as his gaze fell on Nathaniel in her wake. 

“I see you’ve spoken to our guest,” the man said in a thin voice. “Quite the handful isn’t he?” Eideann simply gave Varel a flat look.

“Seneschal, were you aware this man is Nathaniel Howe?” she asked simply. Captain Garavel’s eyes narrowed and Seneschal Varel heaved a sigh.

“A Howe?” he murmured. “It figures that they would turn up again.” His eyes slid to Nathaniel and narrowed. “The Howes are implacable enemies, Commander.” She simply gave a small smile, then shook her head.

“As you say, Seneschal, though no one knows it better than I, I would imagine.” She glanced back to Nathaniel then who was standing tense and angry behind her, staring at the Seneschal. And she motioned to him. “Join him.” Varel blinked, brows knitting, and Captain Garavel opened his mouth in protest, but Eideann put up her hand to silence them both. “Join him. Simple as that.” Varel drew another breath and then nodded, stepping away from them both and climbing the steps into the Keep proper. Captain Garavel just grimaced, giving Nathaniel a careful look before throwing her a salute.

“Commander, if you have a moment, I have Voldrik Glavornak waiting on your pleasure.” He motioned to her the direction and she nodded, smiling slightly.

“Thank you, Captain. Just the man I wanted to see.” The Captain led them both across the courtyard to the far wall, still wooden, where a dwarf, arms crossed, was glowering at the fortifications. 

“Mostly,” the dwarf said gruffly, “the darkspawn did a number on this Keep of yours, but I suspect it was crumbling well before they showed up.” That was the greeting apparently. No more. He waved at the walls, then the wood. “You Seneschal gave me some fancy decree promising men and monies to fix the Vigil, but it’s a paltry sum. I suppose it would be sufficient to reconstruct the walls to human standards.” His eyes scanned the battlements a moment, then fell at last on her. “But who’d want that?”

“What would it take to rebuild it right, Voldrik?” Eideann said simply, pointing at the wooden outer walls. “This in particular is unacceptable.” He nodded, musing over the figures a moment, then looked up at her.

“I’m not certain of the quality of the stone in these parts, but we’d need more men for certain,” he tallied. “Proper skilled men, not some starving dusters, right? Which all boils down to coin really. And I need some real stone. Real stone, granite or something untouchable.” 

“How much, Voldrik?” she pushed again. His eyes, blue like the sky, slid to her.

“Hundred sovereigns for a few good men.” Eideann sighed, then   
Looked away, nodding. 

“I’ll find it,” she said simply, eyes dark. “Hire the men, Voldrik. I’ll find the money.” He simply nodded, and then Nathaniel carefully stepped up, eyes wary.

“There used to be a few quarries down towards the Wending Wood. Granite, I think. And silverite.”

“Silverite?” Eideann asked, glancing to him. “You’re sure?” He nodded and she mused over that a moment before nodding.

“Will it do, Voldrik?” The dwarf nodded.

“If there’s enough there, and you can spare some men to guard the miners, yes, but you will need to clear whatever trouble is going on down there. That Mistress Woolsey said wagons are having a tough time.” 

“I will,” Eideann promised, and then turned away.

She led Nathaniel into the Keep then, up the many steps and through the barbican. He just looked wistfully about, eyes sad. It had probably been years since he’d had a good look at the place, after all. She imagined that it may be a lot like returning to Highever again. Empty. Never quite the same.

But she planned to make it something more. Vigil’s Keep was one of the oldest fortresses in Ferelden. There was room to grow. 

She still had no intention of sleeping in the Arl’s room, though. 

Seneschal Varel was waiting, with a weary looking Anders who had apparently been pulled into helping to prepare, and Oghren, who had managed to get drunk apparently not long after waking. Nathaniel considered them then, nervous, and Eideann motioned for him to stand before Varel. Nathaniel looked warily at the Joining Chalice as Eideann spoke the words. This time, Oghren even mumbled a few, and Anders watched with narrowed eyes. 

Nathaniel took the Chalice and drank. 

When he woke, Eideann was waiting for him, sitting on the lip of the firepit, Warden uniform folded beside her, twirling a bow of fine whitewood in her hands brought from Soldier’s Peak. 

“You’re a ranger?” she said, checking to be certain. It had been some time, but few in the Coastlands did not have the ability to track and scout and range. It came with the terrain. Nathaniel eyed up the bow in her hands, then considered her, blinking. She set aside the bow, propped against the fire, and instead pulled forth the Warden pendant, silver chain glistening in the firelight behind her, red blood drop dark and foreboding.

“To remember those who did not make it this far,” she told him quietly, and held it forth, letting it dangle on its chain. He stared at it a moment, then took it from her.

“So what happens now?” he asked dubiously, still refusing to trust her, not that she blamed him. 

“We hunt darkspawn,” she said, rising and turning away. “Be ready in an hour. We’re riding to the City.” 

***

“Commander! Your Majesty! Please, be reasonable. The amount of structural damage - !” Sergeant Maverlies protested. Eideann simply glanced to her.

“Look. There may still be darkspawn down there, and the deep cellars are the oldest part of the Keep. I’m good at killing darkspawn, Sergeant, but not at digging. Get a team working on it. When I return from Amaranthine, then we shall clear out the tunnels.” 

“We can’t possible clear it that quickly,” the Sergeant said. “Perhaps the cellars, but if we’re right about it letting out into the Deep Roads – ”

“It does,” Eideann said simply. “That’s how they got in.” She adjusted her gauntlet and then considered the harried woman before her. “I’m not asking for anyone to dig their way into the Deep Roads before I get back. Just clear the rubble and make it stable enough for us to do the work. When we return, it’s the first thing on my list.” The Sergeant looked a little put out, but then nodded. “Thank you, Maverlies. Your efforts are appreciated.” She turned away from the Sergeant then and crossed to the stableyard where a groom had been preparing horses. Oghren eyed his dubiously, then finally sighed and wiggled his way up. She recalled the mule he had ridden from Haven and grinned at the sight, but said nothing when he shot her a glare.

Anders sat a horse like it was the simplest thing in the world, though she had not the foggiest idea where he had learned to do it what with spending most of his life in the Circle. Probably during one of his many escape attempts.

Eideann just patted the neck of her Ferelden Forder, leaning her forehead against it a moment before mounting and then considering Nathaniel. The man was quiet and somber. He sat his horse, a dappled thing from the Howe stables that had been there when they arrived, and looked particularly grimfaced, until the groom came back from inside the stables with a grey-haired elf in tow. And then he stared before reaching a hand.

“Samuel?” he asked, surprised and cautious. The groom stopped and the elderly elf glanced up, eyes wide a moment as recognition dawned on his face.

“Maker’s breath, if it isn’t little Nate,” the man grinned, shaking his head. He crossed to stand beside the horse, patting the creature’s neck softly and smiling at the man atop it. “I’d know that face anywhere!” Nathaniel sighed and gave a small smile.

“I am overjoyed that you stayed on,” he said in a softer voice than Eideann could remember him having as a surly teenager. That must have been learned in the Free Marches: temperance. “Please. Do you…do you know anything of my brother? And my sister?” Eideann glanced back, and Samuel, the groundskeeper who had been in charge of the gardens, small crop fields, and stables, just sighed.

“Thomas…Thomas died in the war,” Samuel said vaguely, but shook his head. “But Lady Delilah…she isn’t dead, son. Not that I know of. Last I heard, she married a storekeeper in Amaranthine. I don’t know which one, poor girl.” Nathaniel’s eyes were like flint as he sat taller on his horse, brows low over his eyes.

“Did you hear that?” he asked, glancing to Eideann. “My sister is alive.” His eyes were a little wild with opportunity. “Could we ask around the shops while we are in Amaranthine?” 

He was asking her permission? He did not need it. She was willing to let him have the distance if that is what he wanted. She wanted peace between them, not a servant. She gave him a nod, because she could not refuse him that. 

“We have to search the city for news of Warden Kristoff,” she said quietly. “I see no harm in asking about for Delilah as well while we do. If she is still there, we will find her.” Amaranthine was large, but from what she recalled most of the merchants operated along a single street known as the Lane of Wares. The city itself had been built almost entirely up from a fishing village during Orlesian occupation, but it had very few of the usual Orlesian trimmings and variations. Whereas most of Orlais was filled with bright colors, elegant cornices, and the sophisticated finery of a people who thought themselves far more important than they were, Amaranthine had been a port for Chevaliers, and temporary capital of Ferelden during the occupation. It had been on the shores of Amaranthine that Maferath brought his troops to bear to battle the Imperium, and it was there that Andraste had first sung the Chant of Light to the world. The Pilgrim’s Path was a pilgrimage between Andraste’s birthplace of Denerim through Vigil’s Keep where the ancient Alamarri had held back the Tevinter forces, and up to the Chantry of Our Lady Redeemer. 

Amaranthine was very devout, and very tied to the Orlesian legacy in Ferelden. It had been why Tarleton Howe had remained allied with Orlais until his death by hanging at Harper’s Ford. It had been why she had found it so very difficult to understand how Loghain Mac Tir had even considered allying himself with Rendon Howe. 

Amaranthine as a city was bold and grim and cold. It stood open without gates, built that way to prevent Fereldans from rising up and taking the port, holding it against the Chevaliers. On the southern side, the walls opened wide to admit all comers. The soaring cornices and battlements were connected for guardsmen to patrol. Outside the city proper were farmholds and a shanty town of those too poor to live within the walls, and beyond that still the farms itself. But the City of Amaranthine did not flourish on farms. It flourished on trade. And that was where its wealth came from. Bann Esmerelle of Amaranthine was the richest Bann in the Coastlands, if not all of Ferelden. And that had made her cold. From what Eideann could remember of the woman, she was unpleasant, arrogant, and cruel, and entirely devoted to the Merchants Guild that ran her city. Her coasts were littered with Raiders and smugglers who took advantage of Amaranthine’s ship-friendly waters to do business away from the cliff faces and harbor patrols of Waking Sea and Highever. Amaranthine was just a friendly coast for landing ships where they shouldn’t be. 

Eideann had not spent much time on ships, but she knew enough. Her grandfather had been the Bann of Storm Coast Bannorn, and her family had lived and died by the sea for generations uncounting. She could hardly be completely ignorant. And she knew enough to know that Raiders were particularly fond of Amaranthine’s coves and reefs. 

They dismounted somewhere near the bottom of the hill to walk their horses in. She let Nathaniel lead them, since he had been through the port recently, though he kept his head down somewhat as he did so, until they reached the small stableyard where she paid a few silvers for the grooms to tend their horses. 

For a little while, it was almost like being normal again. Until she remembered that the Archdemon had been dead only a few weeks, she still could not sense the mysterious darkspawn, and everyone there hated her. Well, the last was probably just part and parcel of normal anyway, but the other two…

And then there was the cost, the price, for killing the Archdemon and living. Two children’s lives. She closed her eyes a moment and drew a breath to usher the thoughts away. She was done with seeing children pay the cost for their parent’s mistakes. That was the true reason, she realized then, that she had let Nathaniel Howe choose his fate. She was tired of killing people’s children. Even Howe children. Enough had died at her hands.

She considered the gates where a guard patrol had been established, blocking many refugees from entering the city. She remembered what Captain Garavel had said about the hunters and the Deep Roads entrance, and decided she had best track them down first. Kristoff may have even found them already in his search for more information about the strange darkspawn appearing, and could even have gone there. And if the Deep Roads entrance they found was anywhere near the Wending Wood…

She found them fairly quickly after she started paying people for information. Colbert was a leather-clad man with bristly stubble the color of old wood that matched that of his rather disheveled hair. His hunting partner was an elf who just grinned at them. 

As she approached, pouch of money in hand, the elf pointed them out, and Colbert turned, surprised, before grinning at her, eyes scanning up and down her armor.

“Looking for some company, honey pie?” he asked with a smirk. “I’m always available for riveting conversations with fine women.” Eideann gave him a flat look, and his smirk faded. She raised her chin slightly.

“I am the Queen of Ferelden,” she said curtly. “And I will rivet you to the floor if you call me that again.” There was only one man who got to call her nonsense names, and he was exactly the sort who only ever called her love. Colbert gave a soft laugh and shook his head.

“I like a woman who’s all business.” 

“Oghren, kill this man,” Eideann said simply, and Colbert glanced as the dwarf dutifully raised his axe.

“The only one,” Oghren said simply, “who gets to comment on Queenie’s feminine charms here is me. Got it?” Eideann rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Maker’s breath. Enough!” She fixed Micah and Colbert with her frostiest stare. “We received word about an entrance to the Deep Roads.”

“Maker’s breath,” Colbert sighed. “You actually _are_ the Grey Queen, aren’t you?” Grey Queen? That was a new one. Apparently people had been busy finding a better name for her than Eideann again. “Look, I can’t take all the credit for finding the rift, you know. Micah here fell in first.” He motioned to the elf. 

“Tell me what happened,” Eideann said simply, and Colbert shrugged.

“It’s quite a ways out of town,” he explained. “We were tracking a buck off in that direction, you see, before this darkspawn mess.” _Before_ the mess. Even before the Blight? Maker how long had that been left unattended…? She almost shuddered at the thought. She had _known_ there were entrances all over the Coastlands. The dwarven paragon statues rose high enough over the Storm Coast to prove that much to her, but this was Amaranthine, less dwarven and more Alamarri, and untouched by the darkspawn until now. “We’d been on its tail for about a week at that point,” Colbert continued, talking about his deer, “I’d wager he thought it was great fun leading us on a merry chase as he did.” Eideann sighed. The thrills of bad hunters, apparently. She or Nathaniel could have brought that buck down in half an hour, maybe an hour tops. But these men seemed simple in those skills. They had clearly been something else before hunters.

“And the chasm?” Eideann prompted, causing Colbert to startle himself into his real story.

“Oh, the chasm, yes. Err…we saw it coming over a rise. It was really something to behold. A huge cleft, as though the Maker himself had cracked the earth in two like an egg!”

“I like eggs,” Micah said simply beside them. Eideann glanced to him, then back to Colbert. 

“It looked like someone had tried to build over it,” the hunter said, sounding a bit confused. “But it must have been abandoned a long time ago. No one in town knew about it.” Eideann narrowed her eyes. Who then? Who would build over a Deep Roads entrance? She grimaced and decided the answer may be important, but she was certainly not eager to find out. Then again, cities like Gwaren had risen from the Deep Roads exits, population centers for trade and the like. She wondered just how old that construction Colbert mentioned actually was.

“Well, of course, we _had_ to investigate!” Colbert continued with bravado. Of course they had… “That was when Micah fell in, a shriek like you wouldn’t believe, and he was gone.” Micah crossed his arms and glowered.

“Earth crumbled,” he mumbled. “Not stable.”

“Right!” Colbert added. “And as Micah lay there yelling about his knee or his head or what have you, the darkspawn appeared.” Eideann considered them, then sighed.

“How many?” Could it really be a nest? If it was, Kristoff would definitely have gone there, if he had known or heard of it. A Warden knew full well what lay in the deep dark places, and the Legion of the Dead was fully armed with the knowledge of broodmothers and darkspawn breeding grounds. Eideann thought of Laryn and gritted her teeth. No one had more reason to hate the darkspawn than Oghren, and she was glad he was at her side. He was probably having the same thoughts. 

Well, that or he was thinking of his next drink. She did not blame him for still wanting to drink away everything. The sorts of things they had seen in the darkspawn, done to his own family, his own house…she would be drinking too.

“Err…more than a brood and less than a horde,” Colbert shrugged, as unhelpful as he had ever been, and she did not have high standards at the moment. She doubted the man had ever seen a brood or a horde. She doubted he knew what a brood even was. “They seemed…occupied…like they had someplace really important they had to be,” he explained, confused again. And for good reason. Darkspawn were not busy. They were darkspawn. “Didn’t notice us at all, thank the Maker.” And she was not the only one who thought it strange.

“The darkspawn were so occupied as to overlook two screaming injured men?” Anders asked skeptically. “Boggles the mind.” 

“I’d marked the chasm on my map so we could avoid it,” Colbert said, finally being helpful, and digging a folded sheaf of paper from his leather jerkin. It was stained and wrinkled, but legible when he unfurled it. “It sounds like you want to know where it is, so here you go.” He pointed the location out to her, an x and a big ‘no’ written somewhere over Knotwood Hills where the Faravel Plains and the Tarcaisne Ridge met. The North Road went right through the area, or close enough. They’d traveled that way to Soldier’s Peak and back, and she had travelled that road a hundred times before both ways, usually stopping by a little village not far north of the North Road. But this was south, a bit off the beaten track, and nestled amidst the deadwood trees that dotted the landscape. She thought of the weird trees, blasted like those down in the Blighted Korcari Wilds, and she thought of the stories of sinkholes and shook her head. If there was anywhere in Amaranthine that could suddenly open up into a Deep Roads tunnel without warning, it was there. She sighed and thanked the hunters with a couple of silver for the trouble. The Deep Roads under the area could even be the cause of all of the sinkholes and Blighted trees. If there was an ancient Thaig below Amaranthine, one long since overrun by darkspawn, it was not inconceivable that the Blight down below the earth had crept up towards the top as well. 

She thought of the Deep Roads exit in Soldier’s Peak that connected to the crossroads that led through towards Cadash Thaig further west and Ortan Thaig and Caridin’s Cross even further. The limits of dwarven knowledge of the old thaigs ended halfway under Ferelden. What lay along the northeastern coast or down south under Denerim, she did not know. There was a very large gap in their knowledge, and one she had no doubt had cost them so many lives at the Battle of Denerim. The horde had come from somewhere beneath the earth, and she was certain it was related to a Deep Road exit close to Denerim itself. 

When this was done, she would personally lend her assistance to the dwarven forces working to reclaim the lost Thaigs under her land. Ferelden was not safe until the dwarves were also safe, and the Grey Wardens knew that the real battle against the Blights was never ended. 

She sighed and motioned to the others, pocketing her remaining money and turning towards the city proper, eyes dark.

“They used to display the heads of traitors over that gate,” Nathaniel suddenly said, considering the arching battlements high above them. “I suppose my father is lucky his didn’t end up there.” Eideann bit her tongue to keep from speaking. She had said enough. He had to learn the truth on his own. It would not benefit her to continue to open old sores. Enough people knew the truth now that he would find it out on his own. It would only cement their hatred if he had to learn the cold truth from her. 

In reality, neither of them had the time to be feeling sorry for someone neither of them liked, and both of them actually hated. There had never been any love lost between Nathaniel and his Father. Only childhood. And the potential of living somewhere away from his dark and twisted shadow. Nathaniel did not want his father back. He wanted the rest of his family back. He wanted his name back. He wanted his honor back. And that, at least, was something he could get, something she could help him with. But he had to grow on his own.

As they neared the gates, the refugees were getting increasingly restless where they butted up against the guard line. 

“Why won’t you let us in?” one of the refugees was saying. “That darkspawn are coming.” Eideann sighed and then pushed through the crowd towards one of the guards.

“It’s the Constable’s orders,” the guard was explaining. “There’s no place for you in the city.”

“But they don’t look infected,” another guard said quietly, “and he has children.”

“Look,” the first guard said dejectedly. “We let some in, we’ll have the rest scratching at our eyes. No exceptions!” 

“Maker spit on you, you heartless bastards,” the refugee said angrily, and then turned his back on them. Eideann drew a deep breath. That was an entirely different matter to be handled, but she could not do it here. She needed to speak to the man in charge. Most of those refugees were Amaranthine freeholders that needed protection. They were farmers and stable-hands and workmen. Those refugees that had fled the Blight were long gone now, to the Free Marches, Nevarra, Orlais. These were Fereldans from nearby. That meant she would have to do something to secure the farms. 

“Excuse me,” a guard said, stopping them. “I need to search your bags for smuggled goods.” Eideann gave him a flat look, then sighed.

“I am the Warden-Commander of Vigil’s Keep. The only packs we have are small. We aren’t staying long,” she said. He shook his head.

“But I have to…” he explained. “Constable’s orders. We’ve been having trouble with smugglers and…”

“What are you doing, man?” The Constable crossed from the guardhouse to join them, putting his hands up a little to stop him. “Are you accusing the Commander of the Grey of smuggling?” 

“I…you said _everyone_ …” Then he simply gave a bow.

“I commend his diligence, and his bravery in stopping me,” Eideann said quietly, taking a stand for the man. “We need more men who can do their duty so well.” The Constable glanced to her, then his man and sighed.

“You are dismissed,” he told the man, who slipped off. Then the Constable closed the distance between them. “I apologize. Smugglers and thieves have all but taken over the city.” Eideann sighed.

“Alright, so what can we do about it? Smugglers have bases, have backways, have routes they take. Smugglers use the same ships, check the registries. Thieves stash goods somewhere, and they have dedicated fences. Route the merchant’s guild, see who is bringing in extra coin, and hang a few in the square if you catch any about it. And for the Maker’s sake, recognize that most people steal because they must, not because they want to. Only a handful are rotten, Constable. The rest are starving. And it’s most likely because you have them camped outside your gates. At least let some of them take succor in the Chantry…” The Constable stared at her a moment, then sighed.

“With trade slowed to a crawl down the Pilgrim’s Path, smugglers have moved in to make up the excess,” he explained. “They’re selling stolen goods at exorbitant prices. If we could shut down their operation and seize their supplies we could distribute it to the needy.” Eideann nodded.

“I’ll keep my eye out, Constable. But I expect you to hold up your end as well. These refugees are farmers. I’ll be personally assuring that those farmholds are better defended if I can, so we can get them back home and back to work and away from the city where we’re just waiting for a plague. And I will see what I can do about the Pilgrim’s Path. What is your name, Constable?” 

“Constable Aidan, Your Majesty,” he replied quietly, and she gave a small smile, shaking her head.

“Well, one Eideann will deal with nonsense out at the farmholds and the Wending Wood, and the other can handle things here. Are we in agreement, ser?” He gave her a salute, and she nodded, then moved on. Nathaniel gave her a small stare, then shook his head.

“Those people need more than promises,” he said quietly, and she nodded.

“I don’t deal in broken promises,” she told him firmly, seriously. “I keep my promises.”

_Protect Alistair. End the Blight. Join the Grey Wardens and do what is right._

“Come on,” she told him, beckoning him towards the Lane of Wares. “Let’s see if we can find news of your sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this, everyone. Man, what a long few days. I have a job now, so I'm working while writing 30 pages a chapter, and that turns into a lot of hard work, so bear with me. Next post should happen around tuesday/wednesday next week as I have family visiting over the weekend. :)
> 
> Notes about Amaranthine:  
> Definitely true about being a fishing village prior to the Occupation and then becoming temporary capital of Fereldan and home of Chevaliers. This goes a long way to explaining some of the politics in the region. 
> 
> Knotwood Hills has a bit of a reputation as being a deathtrap. People go missing there, sinkholes open, and the place is named for the twisted dead trees that dot the landscape there. It was only a little bit of a stretch then to assume this is all due to the Deep Roads network under the landscape (which is large caverns that experience frequent cave-ins because it has literally been centuries since they were maintained (hello sometime around the First to Fourth Blight), and those are darkspawn ridden. It is not really a stretch to think that conditions of the earth in the area might be because of the Blight in the Deep Roads below. I liked it as an explanation.
> 
> Nathaniel:  
> I rewrote some of the dialogue, though I kept in some of it as well, as I felt it was important for his character arc. Nathaniel will be a point character for awhile, so I wanted to expand a little on his experiences, and more dialogue felt a good way to kick that off. 
> 
> AND FINALLY:   
> HigheverRains now has a tumblr filled with Dances in Darkness screenshots, background information, added bits for your enjoyment, and random silly Dragon Age things I happen to come across. If you like Dances in Darkness and want to know more about the characters, writing process, lore, or whatever else, check it out [here](http://higheverrains.tumblr.com/). :) <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders learns a little more about what his Commander is made of; the Wardens find news of Kristoff; Eideann meets Herren and Master Wade; the Wardens clear the Vigil basements and discover the tunnels go deeper than they would have liked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence, descriptions of gore
> 
> Comments always welcome :)

Amaranthine was the filthiest place he had seen, and that was saying something given the amount of places he had randomly ended up over the years. Really, he had been planning on using Amaranthine as a port if need be and nothing more, a way to flee further north towards Antiva or the Free Marches perhaps. Seven escape attempts made him fairly obvious to any Templars wanting to track him. 

All the same, he wished that the locale was a little nicer. He liked his cities clean and tidy and full of pretty people and exciting stories and plenty of places to hide. Amaranthine was stark, indefensible, and run by smugglers. It had all the charm of a prison, minus the metal barred doors, and the additional wonderful bonus of one of the oldest Chantries in Thedas. 

To be fair, that part was rather intriguing. For all he complained, he did genuinely believe in the Maker, and he also believed in Andraste. He just did not believe in the same Andraste as those following the White Divine appeared to believe in. Their ideas of exactly how magic was meant to serve man seemed to differ on the whole ‘lock up all the mages’ part. 

In fact, if it were not for the bloody Grey Queen herself, he would be back there right now. 

He supposed he should be grateful, and in a way he was. After all, he was now effectively shielded from the Templars until further notice, under the auspices of a woman who had helped to prevent an entire massacre at the Circle Tower. And yet…and yet…here he was, trapped in a different sort of fate. And it irked him to find freedom in yet another prison. 

Queen Eideann Famous-As-You-Come-Noble-Hero appeared to have some knowledge of the city, though nothing like what the newest Grey Warden had. That Nathaniel Howe…he had heard enough about the Howes over the past few months. They had risen quickly, up until Queen Eideann apparently cut their patriarch’s legs from under him, and since then had been in a rough way, as far as nobles went. Nathaniel seemed a surly sort, but he had been in the Free Marches, and Anders was of the opinion sooner or later he would reveal himself to be less a grumpy bastard and more an interesting person. He hoped it was sooner.

Nathaniel led them up a few steps towards the Chantry proper, taking the long way round to the Lane of Wares where the merchants happened to be. Anders watched the building with a mix of reverence and distaste. Such beauty in those words, such truths, and yet such harm. His eyes fell on the statue of Andraste where it graced the front steps and he gave a soft chuckle and a wolf-whistle.

“Look at that,” he said, nudging Eideann and Nathaniel and earning a raised eyebrow from the first and a dark glare from the second. “Was Andraste really that much of a looker? Don’t you think she would have been, I don’t know, a barbarian?” Nathaniel gave a low hiss, looking away, but Eideann just shook her head and paused to consider the statue. She seemed to genuinely consider the statue a moment, fierce gaze so intent it was like fire, and Anders glanced to her, raising an eyebrow back. Finally that blue gaze slid to him, and she gave the faintest shadow of a smile. 

“Are you looking for realism?” she asked him. “It’s an icon.” 

“Just wondering aloud,” he shrugged as they climbed the steps. “After all, Andraste did exist, didn’t she?” He glanced back to it over his shoulder. “What would she have thought of the Circle of Magi? Forcing mages to fight demons or be made Tranquil.” 

“We all fight demons,” Eideann said quietly, and he conceded that if anyone was allowed to contradict him in this matter, it was the woman who had brought down the Archdemon itself. She probably knew a thing or two about demon battles after all. But then Eideann sighed. “I think,” she said, slowly considering, “she’d probably be confused by it.” He nodded, looking away towards the steps.

“No doubt you’re right,” he said quietly, considering her words. He had been expecting something…well…he did not know what he had been expecting. The woman was Queen of Ferelden, betrothed to a Templar, and noble-born and raised. He had expected a bit of brainwashing to come down on him hard. Nathaniel certainly had a dark sort of look to his brow. Not Eideann. Anders seized the moment, sensing an opportunity to say words he had wanted to say many times before. Perhaps she was one who could listen. And perhaps she could even make change. “The Chantry uses her words as a reason to collar us just for being who we are,” he said darkly, brows knitted. Eideann simply met his gaze, eyes boring into him, and he paused a moment on the steps to watch her. 

“Magic is dangerous, it’s true,” she told him at last. A flicker of irritation shot through him.

“Sure,” he said sarcastically, “but we’re not _dragons_. We can think for ourselves. Usually.” 

“But can the darkspawn?” Eideann said suddenly. “There are many types of magic in the world. I think it matters less the magic and more the hand that wields it. It is people who are dangerous. Magic is a tool like anything else. And sometimes, it does horrible things.” She grimaced and turned to take the last few steps in silence, until Nathaniel, who had been silent so far, stopped to look back at the statue. 

“It figures, actually,” he finally said, like he had spotted something filthy. Anders thought for a moment he was annoyed at the Queen, who simply glanced to him with quiet eyes. The man’s Coastland greys glanced to them a moment and he gave a mirthless smirk. “There used to be another statue here,” he told them, voice dark. “It was of Byron Howe, my Great-Uncle. He died in the rebellion helping King Maric reclaim his throne.” His smile faded until he just looked sad. “Yet his statue is gone.” He turned his face away. “All because of what my father did.” Eideann glanced to the statue a moment, and something in her gaze softened slightly. Anders almost missed it, because she raised her chin to hide it. He realized she did that when she made decisions.

“I’ll get them to replace it,” Eideann said simply, in a haughty tone of someone used to getting her own way. Anders simply snorted, shaking his head and crossing his arms. Eideann ignored him and Nathaniel’s gaze narrowed slightly.

“Don’t bother,” he said quietly, voice world-weary and quiet. “Nobody here will want to see it.” He considered the statue of Andraste again, then tilted his head slightly. “There’s a long line of heroes in my family. The Howes have been around since Calenhad.” He reached out as if he might touch the statue, then drew back his hand and his lips twisted in a quiet sneer. “Now it’s all gone,” he murmured, more to himself. Eideann did not move, and something in Nathaniel hardened, a fresh anger masking an older anger that was crystallizing into a hard rage deep in his core. “And for what?!” he snapped, glaring back at Eideann, channeling that rage towards the Queen. “Being on the wrong side of the war?! For choosing poorly?!” There was hatred in her eyes, but the Queen did not melt away from it. She faced it down. Anders felt the ripple of tension that strung tight across the Veil. On the other side he could feel spirits stirring at the emotions laid bare, and he gave a small shiver.

“It’s up to you to turn that around,” Eideann finally said darkly. “We cannot go back. We can only go forward.” 

“Not too much pressure, right?” Nathaniel said irritably as Eideann circled around towards the Chantry doors. “I wonder what happened to the old statue,” the Howe scion mumbled, but Eideann was already pushing her way into the Chantry. 

Within, the interior was lit with the rose light of the Andrastian stained glass, which cast deep patches of dawn across the crimson carpets and their people. Queen Eideann dropped a few coins from her purse onto the collection plate that stood by the door for the refugees at the gate, then crossed between the pews and considered Andraste before closing her eyes a moment, reaching to touch the statue’s feet, and then turning to the nearest Chantry Sister. She exchanged a few words, motioning to Nathaniel, and it became clear she was asking about Delilah Howe. The Sister seemed to explain something or other, but Anders did not catch all of the conversation, as he realized that Oghren, who had somehow managed to stay silent until that point, was looking around the room with distaste.

“By the tits of my ancestors,” the dwarf muttered, itching at the front of his tabard in an entirely inappropriate manner.

“Maker’s breath, you’re in a Chantry!” Anders said with distaste. The dwarf just gave him a lopsided grin that proved he was not even remotely sorry, and then sighed. 

“So…err…you think there’s an apothecary around here somewhere?” he asked in a lower voice. Anders raised and eyebrow.

“Probably,” Anders mused. “Why?” He eyed the dwarf who just sniffed and looked around uncomfortably. 

“Well…ah…I don’t want to bother you with this…” he finally sniffed, stroking down his braided mustaches and beard.

“We have healing herbs,” Anders said after a moment, looking about. Maker, he may be a spirit healer, but some things were just too much! He grimaced and the dwarf snorted, crossing his arms.

“I’ve tried those,” he muttered, “but they only stop the itching for a few hours!” His words echoed a little across the cloister, earning them a couple funny looks from some praying Sisters in some nearby pews. Anders, flushing red, turned his face away.

“Maker’s breath!” he hissed. 

“Right. Look.” Oghren turned to face him full on. “For the past few days I’ve had this…burning rash. The skin’s actually got a sorta greenish look to it.” 

“Why are you telling me?!” Ander hissed in a low voice. The dwarf gave him a flat look.

“You’re a healer, right?” Anders was forced to concede that point at least, but all the same, he had no desire to go about fixing…whatever this was.

“What did you touch this time?!” Anders spat. Green burning rashes? The damn monster must have been rutting with hurlocks to pull that one off! 

“I didn’t touch anything!” the dwarf declared too loudly. “You know, I bet it’s that Grey Warden stuff we had to drink!” Anders smirked.

“I’ve never heard of it causing a rash,” he said simply. Oghren glared. 

“I’m special,” he said gruffly, then sighed dejectedly. “I’ll just see if I can’t find some nice minty balm somewhere in this town,” he grumbled.

Eideann crossed the floor to them, eyes dark.

“We’re leaving,” she said abruptly, not even stopping to wait. Nathaniel had a face like thunder too as he brushed past them. Anders turned and hurried to keep up.

“Did we find anything useful?” he asked as they stepped back out into the overcast city. 

“Delilah did marry, here in the Chantry, and is living with a merchant, though we did not learn which. And of the many establishments in Amaranthine, Warden Kristoff liked to visit the Crown and Lion up the road from here. So that is our first stop. And if you two don’t behave, it will be our last. Is that clear?” The look she gave them then could wilt rosebushes. So Anders gave a meek nod, and Oghren put on a surly face but did fall silent. At least there was that. 

In fact, they were mostly silent as they made their way up the road then. Until Oghren decided silence was just too hard, and he decided to start pestering Nathaniel instead.

“So…” he began, sidling up to the archer to the point Nathaniel had to take a step away because of the smell. Maker, why had Eideann let him stay at all? What did she see in this creature? “You’re Rendon Howe’s little blighter.” Anders sensed trouble and immediately dropped back a couple of steps. Eideann was pretending to ignore them, but he could tell that the tension had returned again. He could sense the spirits reacting. 

“That’s…one way of putting it,” Nathaniel said quietly, his voice dark. Oghren grinned.

“They talked about you in the Army,” he grinned. Maker, that dwarf had served in the King’s Army? “Fergus Cousland said you wouldn’t have the stones to show your face again. But you proved him wrong. I respect that.” 

“You do?” Nathaniel seemed taken aback. Eideann did not react, but Fergus Cousland had to be her brother. She was Eideann Cousland after all. Were all dwarves so awkward? 

“Yeah,” the redheaded drunk growled. “Throw caution to the wind, run headlong into danger, and sod the consequences – that’s the way to live.” And that also explained a lot about how Oghren acted, though not actually why he was still alive.

“Thanks…I think…” Nathaniel said, unable to work out best to make the dwarf leave him alone. His eyes flickered up to Eideann’s head in front, and he looked a little nervous. 

“Yep,” Oghren said, completely ignoring the tension. Or maybe he really could not tell. “Don’t you give a piss what the others think. Oghren’s got your back.” Whether that was a good thing remained to be seen. 

It was a tense few moments before Nathaniel finally did reply.

“Were you there when my father was killed?” Oghren was silent. Uncharacteristically so. And Eideann made no motion she was listening, but Maker, Anders was sure the Veil was going to split open at any moment. He dropped back another step, letting his eyes fall to the flagstones of the city where he walked. 

And then Oghren finally gave a soft sigh.

“Don’t go digging in the dust for things laid to rest,” he finally said quietly. “It does no one any good.” Ah, he _was_ loyal to Eideann then, in the end. 

“Whatever people say about him,” Nathaniel declared hotly, “he was still my father. And I just want to know if he…if he suffered.” 

“I’m…not the person to ask.” Anders glanced up to catch the dwarf look to Eideann then. So the stories, it seemed were true. Eideann had recruited her own sworn enemy’s son. 

“Very well, Oghren,” Nathaniel said darkly. “Evade the question.”

“He was not there,” Eideann finally said, glancing back. “He was not with me when your father died. He can’t tell you.” She lowered her gaze a moment and when she looked up, there was something in her rainy eyes. It looked for a moment like she was deciding what it was she wanted to say. And then, at last, she sighed. “Your father died quickly in the end. Too many wounds.” And then she turned away, leaving the shadow of that to Nathaniel to contend with. The man looked a bit sick. Anders simply grimaced and reached to pat Nathaniel on the shoulder, pulling him along towards the inn.

The Crown and Lion was a tidy enough inn, full of merchants and common folk mingling in the afternoon. But despite the busy common room, a woman with strawberry blonde hair and dark, sultry eyes noticed their arrival and crossed the room to them, a tray balanced on her hip.

“Something to wet your whistle, stranger?” she asked, eyes scanning them before settling on Eideann at their head. 

“I’m looking for a Grey Warden named Kristoff,” Eideann said quietly, and the woman smiled a little.

“I remember him,” the woman said in a friendly voice, shifting the tray a little for better balance. “We chatted a bit. He was a friendly sort for a Grey Warden. He spent most of his nights here drinking. Wasn’t ever loud or too forward. I haven’t seen him for maybe a week now?” A flash of concern came to her eyes and Eideann sighed.

“Did he ever talk about what he was doing?” the Queen asked, and Anders considered the girl, whose eyes skimmed them all again with a bit more attention to detail this time.

“Said he was tracking some darkspawn,” the serving girl said softly. “One particular group that’s been raiding outside the city.” She glanced to Anders. “He told me they was acting strange those darkspawn. Acting obvious. Like they wanted to be caught or something.” Anders felt a chill down his spine and he grimaced, looking away. When he glanced back, the serving maid was focused on Eideann again. “I expect he caught them. Probably why he hasn’t been back, right?” Or perhaps _they_ had caught him.

“Do you know where he may have gone?” Eideann asked gently. The serving girl mused over it a moment, shifting her tray again.

“There were a few places he mentioned he needed to look,” she said quietly. “Blackmarsh? That might have been one of them.” But she seemed like she was not entirely certain. Anders sniffed.

“Just how friendly were you two?” he asked, and the woman glanced to him, startled.

“We chatted, like I said,” she said innocently, and he believed her. “He’s married as I recall.” She sighed. “That’s really all I know. You’ll want to speak to my boss over at the bar if he’s in trouble. Send him my best when you see him.” 

Eideann thanked her quietly and then pushed her way through the patrons to the bar where an elderly man with grey hair was standing polishing tankards. He smiled a little as they approached and considered them.

“Something I can do for you friend?” he asked, and Eideann nodded, leaning on the bar.

“Did a Grey Warden named Kristoff come through here?” she asked, and he sighed, setting down his tankard and wiping his hands clean on the cloth. 

“And who are you supposed to be that’s asking?” he asked a little roughly. Eideann just gave him a calming smile.

“I would be his Commander,” she replied softly. The man immediately paled slightly and took a step forward.

“Oh! Welcome, my Lady,” he said hurriedly. “I haven’t seen that fellow Kristoff for almost a week now,” he explained. “Not sure where he went. But his room’s paid up ‘til the end of the month. I guess he suspected he’d be here awhile.” Eideann drew a breath, narrowing her eyes a little in confusion. She pushed up from the bar.

“Did you ever speak to him?” she asked, and he just shook his head.

“Not much,” he admitted, waving a hand dismissively. “He chatted up Sorcha a bit when she brought him his dinner.” He motioned to the serving girl who gave them a small smile and went back to helping one of the other customers. Eideann nodded, then pursed her lips, thinking, before glancing back to the others and sighing.

“Is it possible to get the key to his room?” she asked the innkeeper, looking back over the bar, and the man nodded, bending to collect a set of iron keys and passing them to her.

“It’s the last room at the end of the hall,” the man said simply. “If he comes back and gets upset, however, it’s on your head.” Eideann simply smiled and thanked him pleasantly before pushing away from the bar and making her way towards the steps to the bedchambers.

Kristoff appeared to be in a room like any other. It was neat enough, except for a pinboard on one wall which had all sorts of crosses and checkmarks through various locations across the Arling and a final circle about Blackmarsh. On a small table before the cold fireplace, Eideann found a journal, which she skimmed through before tucking carefully away inside her bag. It took up most of the room within. Anders, peering into the dim chambers, caught sight of a small folded page atop the bedside table and crossed to it. He picked it up, carefully unfolding it, and read that too.

_Dearest Kristoff,_

_My sister and her babe are well. I shall leave Jader as soon as they’re settled. Expect me at Vigil’s Keep within the month._

_Ferelden is cold and wet, so make sure your socks are dry before you put them on. I know how it is with men. You can slay a thousand darkspawn, but when it comes to clean clothes and dry socks, you’re hopeless! I can’t wait to see you._

_Love, Aura_

He held it out to Eideann, who took it carefully before tucking it away too. She did not want to leave it behind for anyone to take, he supposed, but there was a sadness in her eyes as she did so. Anders knew that look. She suspected something strange was going on – in fact, since arriving everything had been odd and entirely unlike darkspawn at all apparently. And this Kristoff was in the thick of it.

“Blackmarsh,” Nathaniel mused distastefully. Eideann just glanced to him and he crossed his arms, considering Kristoff’s map. “If he went there…well, there’s not much left anymore.” Eideann nodded, and then sighed and motioned for them to follow her.

“Come on,” she said softly. “Delilah will be somewhere further in town, and I’d like to see if we can work out any leads on these smugglers.” Nathaniel gave her a quiet nod, eyes cold. 

Their search for Delilah was fruitless, however. No one had enough information to point them to her house, and the only man who had seen her specifically mentioned he only saw her once a week when she came to buy groceries. Since the incident with Rendon Howe in Denerim, the entire family had gone to ground. While some recognized Nathaniel, it was only to give them a wide berth. Anders did not particularly blame the woman for going to ground. In fact, he had enough experience there that it hardly seemed strange at all no one had seen her. After all, how many times had he been forced into hiding after fleeing the Circle Tower? 

But they did finally run into some of the merchants whose goods had been waylaid down on the Pilgrim’s Path. Anders did not really know much about shipping. All the goods that had come to the tower had been shipped in without his knowledge of how or when it had arrived. The closest he had ever been to a proper shipping vessel was in Denerim, when he had found himself in the arms of a beautiful, dusky sea captain with hair like black velvet and eyes that shone like the sun. She had told him all about how she would ride his ship, and he had just laughed and let her. 

He smiled slightly at the memory, until he caught Nathaniel glaring at him, and he sombered.

The man, Mervis, who headed the caravan shipments was deep in conversation with Eideann about the missing caravans, peering at them through squinted eyes, a broad smile on his wide face.

“Thank you for coming to the Merchant’s Guild,” he was saying animatedly. “We need your help. Our caravans are being attacked. The wagons are burned to ashes and there have been no survivors. It’s gotten worse lately. People from the neighboring villages have found guards torn limb from limb and left in the village square.”

“How? How would someone do that and then get a body to the village square without anyone seeing what is happening?” Anders muttered. Nathaniel shushed him with a glare.

“This needs to stop,” Queen Eideann said simply. “Immediately.” There was a sharpness to her voice he was beginning to associate with her commanding nature now. “If these shipments cannot get through, the smugglers get all the bolder, and crime shoots sky high. People need to know they will have the goods they need at reasonable prices, and I need to know what is causing all this mess. That’s our route back to Denerim if need be. We need that way clear.” Anders wondered if King Alistair had returned that way in a moment of bleak consideration, then pushed the thought from his mind, determined to believe otherwise. Who knew what the Grey Queen would do if someone hijacking caravans set upon her fiancé. Maker’s breath, the thought of a woman capable of slaying an Archdemon getting angry made him a little scared. 

“Yes,” Mervis agreed readily. “That much is clear. Whatever it is, it’s completely crippled trade between Amaranthine and Denerim.” With what had happened during the Battle of Denerim, Anders was pretty certain that was more troublesome for Denerim than Amaranthine, but he held his tongue. “No one wants to travel the road through the Wending Wood,” Mervis said with a sigh. “Can the Grey Wardens help at all.”

“Certainly,” Eideann said, even though this appeared to have next to nothing to do with darkspawn and more to do with bandits, if Anders was allowed a say. All the same, there it was, her decision, so he just sighed.

“Maker bless you and watch over you, Queen Eideann,” Mervis said with a bow, looking much relieved.

“Do us a single favor, however,” Eideann said quietly. “Keep an eye out for Delilah Howe. If anyone hears of her or sees her, please get word to her. Nathaniel is alive and well at the Vigil and wants to see her if she can.” Nathaniel blinked, and frankly so did Anders. Why was Eideann going to such lengths to find all the children of a man she once called enemy? It would be like if he suddenly started being kindly towards Templars. It felt strange.

Nathaniel just said nothing, giving Eideann a quiet, baffled look for all her efforts, and held his tongue.

“What about those smugglers?” Anders asked, since Eideann had promised to do something about them too. She simply gave him a small smile.

“Once the Wending Wood is a safe route again, the smugglers won’t make nearly the profit they want to. Some will turn back to legitimate work, and others will turncoat and report operations to the Vigil or Captain Aidan. The rest will probably start infighting. That’s the ideal time to find their lairs and smuggler’s coves. For now, one thing at a time, let’s make sure that Amaranthine is not starving.” He considered her a moment, realizing she could make a good bit of sense if she bothered to explain what exactly she was doing – that was the rub of course – and then nodded. Eideann drew a deep breath, then glanced to Nathaniel. “We’ll find her, Nathaniel. I promise,” she said quietly. Nathaniel just said nothing. “Come on. Time to go. Our day is only half done.” Her eyes shone with the light of someone who enjoyed keeping busy, or at least was drawing satisfaction from the endless tasks. 

Anders thought of the Vigil, of the basements that had collapsed thanks to the mad dwarf’s explosives, and grimaced. Now _that_ was a task he was not looking forward to.

***

Eideann reined in her Forder and slipped from the saddle with a noblewoman’s grace, landing on the gravel path that lined the area around the well before the stable-yard at the Vigil. She looked about, hood pulled up over her blonde locks against the rain that had tumbled down onto them during the ride back, and glanced about the yard before handing the reins to the stableboy in the employ of Groundskeeper Samuel. 

There was a commotion by the basement entrance, of course, where people were hauling stone and the ground shook as that mad dwarf Dworkin set off more explosives below to shake the toppled structures loose. But there was also a small commotion in the yard by the small castle forge, where a bald man with a massive mustache was declaring over the heat of the flames that everything was awful, he would never work again, and the entire place was a dreary disgrace to every inch of his self-respect. 

Eideann decided to deal with the lesser of the problems first, since she knew full well that those tunnels below the Keep definitely went down into the bowels of the earth itself. Her domain ended on the surface. Down in the depths she was the Commander. For a moment longer, she decided to stick with Queen. 

“It’s not that cold!” a second man was saying as he unpacked things from a straw-filled crate and laid them carefully out atop a table near the forge. “The Wardens need us!” 

“I miss my shop! This place is so drab! It offends my sensibilities!” the first man declared, petulant and glaring at the flickering embers beginning to glow in his exterior forge. 

“Andraste preserve us,” the second man grumbled, shaking his head and rising from where he bent over the box just in time to see her approach. His face lit up and he smiled warmly, setting down his load and turning to her. “Ah! Warden-Commander!” Eideann glanced between the two of them, then fixed her gaze on the friendlier one. “I represent Master Wade, the finest – !”

“A bloody coldest!” Master Wade declared sourly, back to them. “I can’t feel my fingers!” The second man clasped his hands together and cleared his throat, turning back to Eideann.

“Finest _armorer_ in Denerim,” he finished curtly before Wade could interrupt again. Dark circles hung under his eyes like it had been a chore simply arriving. “I thought…well, _we_ thought that you might have need of an armorer.” Eideann smiled slightly and nodded. “This is a temporary relocation,” the man explained, glancing to Wade. “The darkspawn are most active around Amaranthine, and since our shop in the Market District back in Denerim was lost in the battle to end the Blight, we thought we could help.” He said the last part quietly, a mere whisper, but not quietly enough. The dour and miserable armorer Wade simply glared back at them.

“And I suppose the money the Crown paid us had nothing to do with it?!” he snapped. Eideann smiled a little more. Alistair, that blessedly wonderful man. 

“Alright, gentlemen. My men will need armor,” she said simply. Wade turned to her at last, his face outraged. 

“Providing arms and armor for common soldiers, oh!” he despaired dramatically. “The indignity!” He sighed. “If we are going to be so dreadfully plebeian, I don’t suppose Amaranthine has any proper metal?” He considered her beseechingly and Eideann smiled with a nod.

“Master Wade, I will be journeying as soon as possible to clear the Pilgrim’s Path down in the Wending Wood. Voldrik Glavornak has requested I locate granite, but I am told that the area is also home to a rather profitable silverite mine. I hope that silverite ore will do for you?” Silverite and iron. She tighted her fingers slightly to feel the band about her finger and thought very briefly of her crown. How much of her life was going to be spent in silverite from there on out, she wondered. 

“If you come across any deposits of ore,” the assistant said, “let us know. I am Herren, by the way, your Majesty. It is a pleasure to serve.” Eideann thanked him and then bade them farewell, glancing to Nathaniel and Anders and Oghren before crossing to where Sergeant Maverlies and Voldrik were working on the basement tunnels.

“Just about done, Commander,” Voldrik said, looking up. “Give it half an hour and we shall be ready for your assistance.” Eideann nodded, then glanced towards the Vigil, suddenly feeling very road-weary. Maybe there was time yet to get a bite to eat. 

The servants were kind enough to provide something simple for them – cold pork and bread and lukewarm ale that Oghren belched down like everything else he drank. When they had eaten their fill, they prepped their gear. Anders and Nathaniel watched as Eideann and Oghren went through their list of needed supplies.

“You don’t think it really goes that far do you?” Nathaniel suddenly asked, somber and concerned, as Eideann checked they had flint should magic fail them, and Oghren tied a rope about his waist for safe-keeping.

“Oh yes,” Eideann said darkly. “They came up that way. It reaches the Deep Roads themselves. Who knows what we will find down there.” She tried not to think about the fact she still had not sensed any darkspawn. There was no telling how many were down there. She did not tell the others they were meant to be feeling the darkspawn either. Best not to get them concerned. If they went in blind now, when they could sense them again then they would be much stronger for it. Some things she needed to keep to herself. 

When they were ready, it was Nathaniel that led them down the Vigil steps, eyes cold as ice, to where Sergeant Maverlies and Voldrik Glavornak were surveying their handiwork with grim faces. 

“I will come with you,” Sergeant Maverlies said quietly, “at least until the spots where we broke through the rubble. Then I shall be right behind you.” Eideann smiled and nodded, recognizing the woman putting on a brave face.

“Stand back when the time comes, Sergeant,” she said simply. “We will take the unknown tunnels ourselves.”

“I will lead,” Nathaniel said quietly. “I know those tunnels.” So they descended down into the depths of the Keep.

How far they went, Eideann was not sure. She lost count of the number of steps before suddenly the landing evened out and Sergeant Maverlies pulled them up short. 

“Here we are,” she said, a little breathless. “The Vigil goes deep. Real deep. The hallways down here have been crumbling for years and decades.” She considered the stone walls, thick with cracks, and shivered a little in her scale mail before glancing back to Eideann. “And that blasted Dworkin’s explosives didn’t do the structure any favors.”

“So how far down do the basements actually go?” Eideann asked, glancing between Maverlies and Nathaniel.

“No one knows,” Maverlies said after Nathaniel gave a shrug. “The Vigil’s always been here. Since the barbarians, they say.” One did not question the all-seeing historical knowledge of the omnipresent _they_. Eideann simply sighed. She wished _they_ had at least made floorplans. But, going in blind would have to do instead.”

“Alright, Nathaniel,” she called, and he stepped forward.

“Cousland,” he muttered, then pushed past her. “Be careful not to die. Someone would find some way to blame it on me.” She just smiled slightly at the back of his head and then followed him into the deep.

The tunnels were narrow there, but still part of the Keep, lit with sconces on the walls that flickered in the still air as they passed. With every staircase, the basements wound deeper. It was no strange descent, just a twist and turn lower and lower. The air began to feel a bit thin, or else it was clogged with dust, because as they descended Eideann began to feel the familiar choking pressure of the depths. They were at a level with at least some of the Deep Roads. She carefully drew a pendant from within her tunic under her armor, a simple gold ring holding an hourglass filled with glowing lyrium. She twisted it over and then tucked it away, but she desperately hoped they would not be down there long enough to see it become a day. 

The first chambers, the deep basements, were unlike anything she had seen in ages. They were littered with Alamarri sculptures. Strange, twisting shapes loomed in the dim light, thick with dust. And then, at the far end of the first few chambers, she caught sight of something that made her gasp for breath. 

A mabari lay, wounded and bleeding. Eideann immediately thought of Angus, and hurried forward. Nathaniel followed her warily, eyes narrowed with suspicion, even as Anders reached into the Fade for the ability to help the creature.

It was badly wounded. Eideann dropped to a crouch beside it, and he looked at her through one eye, giving a low whine. She tore off her gauntlet and carefully reached a hand forward, which at first it shied away from before finally letting her set it gently atop its bruised head. Part of its left ear was missing, and its fur was matted with blood. It had no kaddis. It was a wardog, but of course they had expected no war. 

Eideann caught sight of a parchment rolled up and tucked beneath its thick leather collar, and she carefully pulled it free before passing it up to Nathaniel to unfurl. Her second hand came to the dog as Anders bent over it and a rush of healing gently flowed into the creature. The dog gave a low gruff, laying its head back down, and whined softly. 

Nathaniel made a choked noise.

“What?” Eideann asked, glancing up.

“Adria…she took refuge down here during the attack,” he said in a low voice. She could sense the panic and he glanced to her desperately, seeking permission again like he had done when he had learned of Delilah. “She was…she was like a _mother_ to me. We _must_ save her!” Eideann carefully rose, patting the dog a final time, and pulling her gauntlet back on. The dog gave a low moan and settled back on the flagstones, still injured but alive. 

“We will come back,” she told the creature, and the dog gave a low sniff before laying its head back on its paws. 

If Adria had gone further down, further in, Eideann dreaded to find her. The darkspawn had certainly been there. She could smell their corruption, even if she could not sense any. They had come through those tunnels when they had emerged from the Deep Roads. And Adria had run directly down into that path. If she was alive…

She bit her lip and reached for her swords, drawing them slowly. 

“Be ready,” she told the others darkly. “We don’t know what we will find.” 

She was alerted to the darkspawn presence by the growls and grunts that rose from further down the tunnel. She did not need to sense them to know that they were there. Shrieks would remain a problem, but for the time being this was enough. This had to be enough. She turned the corner, and was shocked to find it was not only darkspawn but ghouls below, and that they were attacking survivors. Survivors who had stayed trapped down here, safe only because they had sealed themselves inside the caged that had once held Avvari prisoners or Howe supplies. 

Eideann did not wait. She dove straight into the fray, blades singing, and cut through the darkspawn and the ghouls alike as though it were all a dance. The ghouls were the worst, not yet decayed, rotted flesh and still alive, eyes sunken into twisted and battered skulls. She ended them, as she would a darkspawn. A ghoul could not be saved. And if she let any live, they would serve the darkspawn, one way or another.

When the ghouls and darkspawn lay dead in her wake, she broke free the locks from the bars and let the survivors out, warning them to be mindful of their steps. 

“Oh thank the Maker!” one of them said, eyes blurred with tears of relief. “Quick, before more of those things come.” They fled then up the way they had come, and Eideann glanced towards the lower door with a grimace. If there were ghouls up here…

She could not bring herself to tell Nathaniel when they may yet be hope of finding Adria alive and safe as they had found those survivors. 

“One of these chambers goes to an Alamarri crypt, but the other always ended at a cave,” Nathaniel said quietly, and Eideann glanced to him before he pointed her the right way. A crypt might prove protection. A cave was probably the source. They would check the crypt first. “Perhaps Adria hid there.” But he did not sound hopeful.

The crypt itself was empty, and filled with an unnatural cold. Eideann did not like it one bit. She grimaced, looking about at the sarcophagi that lined the walls, each filled with a long dead warrior buried centuries before the Vigil itself stood over the top of those caves. The place felt…wrong. She did not know why. Perhaps it was the darkness, or the fact this was a place of the dead. Or perhaps it was that such places should not harbor darkspawn. She was eager to leave.

At least until Nathaniel caught sight of a weapons rack across the chamber resting on one wall. Some of the weapons were ancient works of art, carved long ago, Alamarri treasures. But some were more recent, and it was these that drew him. His fingers reached until they touched the smooth wood of a carved bow, and then he carefully lifted it from the rack and turned it about in his hands, disbelieving. His fingers brushed over a carved crest, the Howe bear seared into the wood with delicate care, and he swallowed.

“This…” His eyes found hers, because who else could understand the worth of what he was holding there. She felt that same sensation every time she drew King’s Justice or Duty. “It is…this is my grandfather’s bow.” He clutched it to his chest in both hands, looking to her over its whitewood finish, blue etchings lining the shaft of the weapon and making it catch the light strangely. “Or rather my grandfather was the last to use it.” He drew a breath. “It was originally made for an ancestor during the Exalted Marches.”

“Why wasn’t it used afterwards?” Eideann asked, turning back towards the steps. He followed her, bow held reverently in his hands. 

“Well, my father…hid it away…I guess,” he finally said, stumbling over the words a little. His eyes were dark in the dim light. “I’m surprised he didn’t simply have it destroyed.” Eideann narrowed her gaze a little and Nathaniel’s eyes slid to her then, across his grandfather’s whitewood bow. “I remember finding it before Father sent me to the Free Marches. A shame for it to sit in storage. It’s…it’s good to have a part of my family’s legacy again. Something to be proud of.” Eideann’s grip tightened on Duty and she nodded her understanding. Something hardened in his eyes. “Adria was not here.” 

“We will find her,” Eideann said softly. She did not know what condition the woman would be in when they did, but they would find her. Nathaniel had seen those ghouls the same as she. He had some warning from that at least. That would have to be enough for now. 

They climbed back out of the Avvar crypt to the chamber where the survivors had been found, and then took the other path, down to where Nathaniel said the tunnels ended in a cave. Eideann could not help but recall the tunnels beneath Soldier’s Peak, and it brought her a great sense of unease at the thought they could be in for a repeat adventure.

And it was there they did find a woman, standing with her back to them, arms crossed tight about her. Eideann felt the taint wash back over her from the woman. As Nathaniel took a step forward, she threw out an arm to stop him from getting to close. 

“Adria! No! We have to help her!” Nathaniel insisted. “There must be some way! Adria…” 

Adria screamed, the scream of ghouls, and Eideann went into action. Nathaniel staggered back a few steps as Eideann shoved him out of the path of the ghoul that came at them screaming the roar of the tainted creatures. Oghren was at her side in a moment, cutting the woman down before she could get a grip on Eideann. The screech brought more, and that meant ghouls from within the deep caves. Eideann danced through them, and then was relieved as one before her burst into abrupt flames – Anders was still there. And the last was peppered full of arrows as Nathaniel desperately fought back his anger. 

And then the rest of the Keep fell silent. Nathaniel had frozen, staring at the dead Adria ghoul. Eideann turned away, gritting her teeth, and then had to close her eyes at the sight of mangled bloody bodies piled high in mounds. Oghren was looking at the same mounds. He exchanged a look with her then, eyes dark and cold, and nodded, patting her on the arm.

“She is lucky,” he said quietly. “If they had taken her further…well…”

“They did not have the chance, thank the Maker,” Eideann murmured. 

“Adria…” Nathaniel took a step closer, and Anders moved to catch him before he could walk much further, putting an arm across his shoulders and holding him back.

“Remember her how he was,” he said quietly, in a dark and quiet tone full of sadness. “She would not want you to think of her like this.” His eyes slipped to Eideann’s and she nodded. So the mage turned away and pulled Nathaniel up the steps back towards the surface with him. “Come on…it’s best if we don’t stay down here.” 

It was not long before Sergeant Maverlies and Voldrik Glavornak joined them down in the depths. Sergeant Maverlies looked like she was about to be sick, pointedly avoiding looking at the bodies of men and women she must have known once. Eideann may even have known some of them too. She did not like that thought one bit. 

Voldrik took one look at the stone cavern and grimaced, giving a heavy sigh.

“You murdered a slew of darkspawn there,” Maverlies said, trying to sound chipper. Eideann just shook her head. “I…well, you hear the stories about you and the Wardens, but to see it first hand…” she added, nodding. Eideann simply glanced to the back of the cavern. 

“it’s what we do,” she said quietly. There was obviously something beyond, but more rock would need to be cleared.

“It looks like the explosives caved this section in,” Maverlies said, considering the rock. “Master Voldrik?” The dwarf brushed his hand over the stone and then nodded.

“So this is how you humans ply your stonecraft,” he muttered distastefully. “Disgraceful that is. Why this would barely last a few centuries.” He pushed on the rock, which did not move, and sighed. “I’ll wager these passages may go far enough to connect to the Deep Roads,” he finally concurred. She had believed as much, but it was nice to get a second opinion from someone who would know.

“So the darkspawn did come from below,” she said darkly. Oghren sniffed, leaning on his battleaxe haft with a grimace. 

“Aye,” Voldrik muttered. “The Orlesian lads would have had a terrible surprise. Explains how experienced men fell to the darkspawn so easily.” He shook his head. “This is a grave matter,” he said, fixing her with a look. “If we don’t shut these tunnels properly the darkspawn can attack from below again.” Eideann nodded, then glanced to the stone.

“Andraste’s blood,” Maverlies muttered. “There are basement entrances throughout the Keep. There’s no way to defend against that.” 

“Then we follow the tunnels,” Voldrik said, “and hope to find a single point to block off.” Eideann glanced to Oghren who nodded his asset, though neither of them were particularly keen to go diving into the Deep Roads proper yet. Voldrik smiled glumly at Maverlies. “Never you fear, lass. With the Wardens’ muscle and my stone-craft, we’ll find a way.” 

“Clear the passage, Voldrik,” Eideann said simply, an order, a command. “And I’ll get you your granite and men.” And with that done she turned back towards the steps to make the long climb back to the surface.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann confronts Nathaniel about his family; Anders shares a little of his past; Eideann uncovers a conspiracy to kill her, swears in the Amaranthine nobles, and then has a visit from an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: discussion of physical and verbal abuse
> 
> Comments always welcome! ~HigheverRains

Eideann pushed the doors to Vigil’s Keep wide open, stepping into the corridor with a tired stare, and looking about a moment at the almost-empty throne room before catching sight of Nathaniel and Anders. Anders was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, but he glanced up as the doors closed behind her. Eideann drew a breath. That was a problem she needed to confront now before it spiraled out of hand.

The mage took one look at her, meeting her gaze with his soft brown eyes, and then rose from the wall. Nathaniel was standing with his back to her, arms crossed, gazing at a portrait that hung before him.

“I don’t know what to say,” Anders said in a low murmur as Eideann approached. She just put a hand on his arm, and then nodded, so the mage stepped away and left her to it. Eideann heard his footsteps retreating quietly on the scarlet carpets, and she carefully drew alongside Nathaniel, looking at the portrait herself.

Eliane Bryland had soft eyes that peered back at her above a gentle smile. Her face was open and soft. In the portrait she wore a gown of soft gold, and jewels in style many years back in South Reach bedecked her neck and ears. She smiled back at them, the empty smile of pictures, and Nathaniel swallowed.

“Funny,” he said quietly, his voice thick with anger and loss like the Howes, but quiet in the way the Brylands had always been. “Considering all the things that have been taken, it figures that this would still be here.” Eideann glanced to him, and he looked to her, something sharp and broken in his eyes. Eideann met those eyes, knowing her own had once been so broken.

“And what’s so funny about it,” she said softly. His brows knitted a little and he uncrossed his arms, drawing a breath.

“My father _hated_ my mother,” he said quietly, looking away. “He only dragged this painting out when my grandmother visited, which was not often.” He sniffed. “I’d be paraded before her, like a soldier on inspection, and she would pick over every flaw while Father awaited his turn.” His voice had twisted into bitterness again. Eideann held her ground, bearing it, because someone needed to do so. He needed someone to be angry with, and it was better if it were her. 

They all knew the stories, of course, of Rendon Howe. He had kept a mistress in Denerim, Lady Sophie, though she was no true lady of any actual sort of birth, simply a courtesan with a fine purse and an eye for desperate men. Meanwhile, he had treated Eliane Bryland like chattel, and his children not much better. Eliane’s mother had been Orlesian, always despairing over the way the so-called doglords handled everything they did. It did not matter to her that the Howes had a noble history. And it did not matter to Rendon Howe, who felt safe in his castle, if people learned of the abominable way he treated his wife. Leonas Bryland, the Arl of South Reach, had been bitter since the wedding. After Eliane had died, Delilah had received the same treatment. 

Eideann had never wondered at the reason, never been in a position to help. Until, that was, the chance to help a great number of people suddenly came upon her at the Arl of Denerim’s estate. She pursed her lips, choosing her words carefully, trying to puzzle out what might give this angry, bitter man a chance to grieve properly for all those things he could not change before and that were too late to change now.

“Why did he hate your mother?” she finally asked, focusing on Eliane, not Delilah. Eliane was dead, ashes buried. It was already too late to help her, and so there was only grief and guilt left, a recognition that Rendon Howe’s darkness had gone on long before the war. Nathaniel wanted desperately to believe that his father had been a good man, but such a thing would not help him survive in this new Ferelden, even if she was determined to make it so. He had to see, had to understand, that even he could hide behind his own story. Everyone had a story they told themselves. Sometimes…that just was not enough. And stories did not excuse truths. 

Nathaniel just grimaced, shaking his head, struggling over the darkness that swelled within him, the depths of that past he had repressed, had thought he had escaped in Kirkwall. 

“I don’t really know,” he finally said softly. “Her family was wealthy. I remember that much.” He bowed his head a little, then glanced up towards the portrait of Eliane and his eyes were sad. “They wouldn’t touch me with a ten foot pole now, of course,” he said bitterly. “I’d be as welcome there as a bad rash.” His eyes slid to her, angry again. 

_Blame me,_ Eideann thought. _Hate me for ending your father. I will bear that hate, but I will not regret what I did. Not for my sake, and not for yours._

“Anyway,” Nathaniel muttered, “someone should take this down.” He waved at the picture, lips twisting. “I think it’s staring at me.” Eideann glanced to it, then she shook her head.

“No,” she said simply, and he was a little surprised she had taken his words as a request. “I won’t take it down. She’s staring at me too.” And then she looked away. “I am sorry for what has happened to your family, but I am not sorry that I did it. What is done is done.” Nathaniel sneered at her, shaking his head angrily.

“You’re the problem here,” he spat. “You think you’re so righteous, so full of yourself. You think you know everything, you can rationalize everything. You’re a fake, Cousland, a power-grabbing fraud! And you know it. I hope Amaranthine is the death of you,” and then he stalked off. Eideann watched him go, and sighed. Nearby, Anders pushed away from the wall, glancing first at Nathaniel’s retreating back and then at Eideann.

“Ouch,” he said, crossing to join her. Eideann just looked back to the portrait of Eliane a moment and sighed.

“I would rather he let that anger out than allow it to consume him. For years that anger poisoned his father. He turned it against his wife and daughter and son, and finally he turned it against Ferelden itself. If I must bear the weight of that anger, I will. He cannot break me, and he will come to understand in time that he is better off without Rendon Howe in his life,” she said quietly. Anders gave a soft chuckle.

“Are you trying to convince me? Or yourself?” She glanced to him then and shook her head. She didn’t really know. 

Anders sighed, considering the portrait a moment, then Eideann. 

“Sometimes,” he said, pacing himself, “I wonder if the Maker did not put us on this earth to feel pain.” She looked to him and he shook his head. “It’s late, Commander. Don’t you think you should be in bed?” She gave a small smile, then sighed.

“With a Deep Roads entrance in my very Keep?” she said simply, and he grinned.

“Well, I thought you’d be better equipped than anyone to sleep so close to the Deep Roads,” was the reply. There was a shadow of something dark in his smile as well, but she nodded and then bade him goodnight. She left him then to stare into the flames of the fire-pit in the center of the hall, and what he was thinking, she could not say, but she considered his words.

 _The Maker has forsaken us, if ever he cared at all,_ she thought. 

Her feet led her where her mind could not: to bed, to rest, to a new day. She was amazed to find herself refreshed when finally she did wake, but the hour was still early, and half the Keep was still abed when finally she rose and dressed. A quick breakfast was all she could manage before she wandered out towards the battlements to consider the next steps.

The Wending Wood was ancient, one of the last bastions of an old world. Andraste herself had walked those paths, and so had many before her. She did not relish the idea of diving headfirst into trouble there. 

Part of her that had been silent until that point was beckoning, and it took her a moment to recognize what exactly it was that was drawing her forward towards the woods. Memories, half-whispered, half-forgotten, a quiet reminder that her land was so old even ancient things had long been forgotten by generations of people. She thought of the other forest, the Wending Wood’s darker sister, further south and the ruins that lay buried and forgotten within. She thought of the ancient elven presence she had freed from its eternal prison, and the memories stirred within her, half-truths and warped realities, coloring her mind with ancient interpretations. She focused on that.

 _What was this place?_

But there was only darkness.

There were too many old things, too much history, too much forgotten. And somewhere, somehow, in the middle, something with the ability to lead darkspawn lurked. She tried to make sense of it, tried to see where the connections lay, but could not find the pattern. And that was more concerning. 

There was always a pattern. Such things always connected. She had only to find out how. She took the last of the steps up to the battlements where a cold wind was blowing in across the Keep, and there she saw him, sitting, waiting, staring out across the yards.

***

The wind was cold on his neck, stirring his long hair. He gathered his cloak closer about him, feet dangling over the edge of the battlements, and closed his eyes a moment, trying to think. How many times had he longed to do just this back at the Tower? A thousand times. The wind would never get old. The way air itself moved. 

Maker, would that he could be so free. 

He had hardly slept, though it was not for want of trying. The past two nights had plagued him with dreams the sort he had never dealt with before. He had wandered the Fade every night for as long as he could remember, and sometimes it showed him horrible things, but never, not even once, had he felt so alone as he had been those past two nights, with sickly darkness twisting in his mind and roiling in his gut and the heavy song that echoed in his brain. He wanted to be sick, but he pushed the thought aside.

He had no love of darkness. He had no love of anything. Not anymore.

The sound of footsteps startled him, and he glanced back, hair pulling at the loose strands of his hair. But it was only the Warden-Commander, the Queen, the woman who had stolen away the Fade and replaced it with these twisting dreams, the one who refused to take a side. She stood against Templars, but she was no better. He did not want to see her. So he looked away again.

She did not go away. Instead she sat beside him, letting her feet dangle over the ledge like his own, and considering the land that stretched out before them, eclipsed in the shadow of the Keep, touched with the rosy light of dawn. He bowed his head a little, wondering what he should say, wondering what she wanted to hear.

And then he realized she did not want to hear anything at all. She was simply there. A single presence. 

_You are not alone._

“I do not like the dark.” His own voice came as a surprise. He had not meant to speak at all. Now he was, he tasted the words, quiet and bitter on his tongue. “I never have, but recently…” 

“Neither do I,” she told him softly, refusing to look at him. “In the absence of light, shadows thrive.” He tensed a little, looking up, but she was not watching him, instead considering the small and sleepy village below. Anders sighed, crossing his arms about himself, holding his cloak tight. It was one of the Grey Warden ones that she had given him after the Joining. 

“Is it very dark in the Deep Roads?” he asked, and immediately felt foolish for asking the question. They were, after all, the Deep Roads, abandoned, and the haunt of things literally called darkspawn. But she simply shook her head.

“No. Not everywhere. Some of them are lit with chasms of lava, and others glow with lyrium.” There was a quiet look in her eyes, a careful significance he could not place. He chewed on his tongue and looked away.

Was that to be his life now, then? Was it much better, being trapped here versus in a Circle? Was she watching him, waiting to see what he would do next, if he was truly dangerous? He had never chosen this life for himself. And if he had the option, he absolutely would not choose it now. He grimaced.

“I escaped the tower seven times,” he said quietly, and half hoped she had not heard.

“Seven?” No such luck. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the shadows in the courtyard and the well at its center.

“After the last time, they put me in solitary confinement for a year. Below the Tower there are cells. And the darkness…” He trailed off, and when he did look up, her eyes were watching him, burning with a low anger. It took him a moment to realize it was not for him. 

“A year?” she asked, dangerously, and he looked away.

“Eventually, I’m sure they would have branded me a maleficar, true or not, and executed me,” he told her. Why was he saying this? Why was he entrusting these secrets to her? But when darkness is exposed to the sunlight, it cannot help but be purged. He could not stop now. And the anger in her eyes gave him hope. Something…somewhere…

She was no mage. She was perhaps no ally to him. But she had stopped an Annulment at the Circle Tower and had stolen him away from the Templars in recruitment. Her eyes were not like the cold stares of the Templars in the Tower, judging and haunting.

“They only kill mages when they can prove we’re dangerous,” Anders muttered. “For the good of all.” He hunched his shoulders, peering into the distance again. “The problem is that mages are tolerated. Barely. It’s like you need permission to be alive!” She settled back on her hands, and he glanced to her again. “There’s _nothing_ a mage can do to prove himself.” And Maker, he had tried.

 _A healer. I wanted to be a healer. To make people well. To do the Maker’s work._ How hard had he worked to prove he was just a person like anyone else? How many years had he spent before he realized he would never be free of that cage? He wanted to be a good person. He wanted to be a _person_. 

And she was watching him with those rainy eyes, and something hovered inside them. It was not judgment. It was not contempt. It was quiet acceptance. 

“Everyone needs to be protected from you,” he said softly. “The end.” The force was gone from his words now, as he realized she understood. He dropped his gaze, and she swallowed, then drew a breath.

“When I fought the Archdemon,” she said softly, “I knew I was going to die. I knew that it would cost me my life, like it cost every other Warden who had ever brought down an Archdemon. Except…it didn’t.” He looked up, confused, and she narrowed her gaze, considering him. “It didn’t because a mage saved my life. And the price for that…I still don’t truly understand. But she did. She made all the difference. A mage.” 

This was a story few would know, could know. He could feel the weight of her words. She was giving him something of herself, honoring the trust he had placed in her. She was telling him what she really thought. He listened. And felt each word pound in his chest like a heartbeat.  
“Magic gave me the chance to save Ferelden, to stand here today and know that it will not fall apart. Magic saved my life. And it saved the life of my husband, an ex-Templar. We both know mages deserve more than prisons.” She met his brown eyes. “I stopped the Annulment of the Circle Tower because mages are people. That Tower was full of abominations that threatened mages as well as Templars. But more importantly, it was full of innocents desperately trying to survive.” She looked away into the courtyard. “Magic is not evil, it is a tool,” she told him quietly. “The one who wields a sword and the one who wields a staff can be as bad as one another, or as good. I owe my life to mages many times over.” She shook her head. “A year locked away in darkness is cruelty.” He felt the sting of it, and the force of her words, and looked away again as tears pricked his eyes. The wound was still raw still there.

And he thought as well of Karl, who he had not seen in so long. He thought of the soft touch of his fingers, the quiet hitching of breath in stolen moments, and swallowed hard. He had been sent away while Anders was imprisoned. He had not even had the chance to say goodbye. 

But here was this woman, with the power to slay Archdemons and command kingdoms and armies, telling him that she believed in him, and that she knew that it was wrong. What, then, was she going to do about it? He did not know. Probably nothing. What authority did anyone have over the Chantry. Even a Grey Warden Queen was no Divine. He grimaced, feeling a little sick again. 

But Eideann was watching him, and she reached gently to catch his hand in her own. It was warm, and he flinched, and stopped his shoulders from shaking before he looked up at her. She considered him a moment, eyes quiet and sad.

“Even in darkness,” she said softly, “we can find light. Sometimes we must face darkness. Sometimes, that is the price we pay for our light.” She gently pulled his arm towards her, laying it carefully against her belly. He paused, brows knitted, and then carefully reached for the fade, for magic, which brought his mind dancing into life and left him shaking at what he found there. The nothingness, the emptiness, the sadness, but also that resolute strength. And he read what she had lost, what her own darkness was, and what killing the Archdemon had cost her. He pulled back abruptly, staring at her. 

“I…I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know…”

“Only a handful do,” she said softly. She glanced to him again. “Anders, things are not black and white, not the world, and not people. There is no such thing as a bad person or a good. There are only people, and all the hurts and fears they carry.” She leaned forward a little, resting her elbows on her thighs, the wind pulling at her short hair. “We stand in the shadows, Anders,” she said quietly. “We are Wardens. We protect. _We_ defend.” She fixed him with a fiery look. “You are not that man locked away alone anymore.” 

Anders considered her a moment, then shook his head. 

“Now again I recall that I’m not sitting in a cell and I have to smile,” he told her, and that earned him a wry, knowing look.

“You don’t have to smile. But it makes it easier for strangers to trust you if you do,” Eideann said simply. He decided he liked her smile. He had not seen nearly enough of it. Something about her smile was…kind. And kindness made something ease within him.

“So,” he said quietly, considering her. “What would you do if you didn’t have to be a Grey Warden? Go back to court, I suppose? Find a different way to save the world?” Eideann looked to him, and considered, before at last shaking her head.

“I don’t _have_ to do anything,” she finally said quietly. The echoes of memories lay in her eyes, like duty was a way of life for her, rather than something others foisted upon her. She probably could not stopped in she tried. He saw the weariness upon her and smirked.

“Really,” he said simply, his voice betraying his disbelief. “Once you drink the blood, it’s all downhill, no?” She shook her head and he crossed his arms, leaning forward with her. “I’ve never liked the idea of being trapped somewhere, to be honest. It reminds me of the Circle,” he finally said. “After my seventh escape attempt, you’d think they’d have given me credit for trying.” Eideann bowed her head.

“Well, I suppose seven times lucky?” she said quietly, and he grinned, picking at the front of his silken tabard. 

“I got _really_ good at escaping the tower,” he mused cheerfully. “Just never good at staying escaped. Until now, I suppose.” She glanced to him, that smile touching her lips, and he smiled back, shaking his head. “There is one thing I miss, though.” Just one. And Karl. But Karl was no longer there, and Maker only knew what had happened to him.

He thought of the days in that damp dungeon, curled up in the darkness, face against his knees, and his smile slipped a little. But he had not been alone.

“What’s that?” she asked him pleasantly. He grinned.

“My cat.” That blasted thing. Scrawny and half-starved, as lonely as he was down in the dark, skirting puddles and catching rats in the depths of the dungeons. Oh it had been a battered old thing with a crook in its tail and an ear that was missing a piece. But he had curled about Anders’ legs in the darkness, mewled softly into the still air, and when he had finally given up hope and turned to sobbing into the emptiness that blasted creature had licked his hand with a rough tongue as if it could kiss it better. “Mr. Wiggums,” Anders said quietly, fondly, remembering back to nights curled together with the cat on his lap. “He wasn’t _my_ cat. He was the tower’s mouser. But he took a liking to me.” He bowed his head. “There were days when that stupid cat was the only person I saw. Except for it not being a person. Still, I liked him, poor Mr. Wiggums.” His smile slipped and Eideann watched him a moment before licking her lips.

“What happened to him?” she asked gently, and Anders’s lips twisted a little into a sneer. 

“He became possessed by a rage demon,” he said curtly. The way that creature had twisted and turned and warped. That had been his doing, in his anger and his fury, attracting spirits across the veil. He had woken to the cat hissing and spitting and clawing across the flagstones. “He _did_ take out three Templars,” Anders said bitterly. “I was never more proud.” Or more lonely. Or more guilty. He swallowed, hard, and forced the thoughts away. 

That had been the day he learned they had sent Karl away. He had lost both his friends at once that day. He smiled bitterly to hide the cold feeling that eclipsed his heart, and blinked away the tears. He forced himself to smile.

 _You don’t have to smile._

Something eased in him at that, and he glanced to Eideann then who had pulled her feet up onto the ledge and was hugging her own knees.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” she told him quietly. “This is not a prison. You can run if you like. But I need all the help I can get. And I am asking you if you would not mind staying.” She bowed her head. “I understand if that is something that you simply cannot do. I won’t ask anyone else to carry this duty with me.” He stared, feeling raw and bruised, and then he carefully reached out a hand to her. She considered it, and then blinked up at him, before she carefully reached to take it. He shook it with a slight smile.

“I’ll stay, Commander,” he told her. “It’s a bit late to turn back now, anyway.” She smiled and then sighed.

“When the time comes,” she told him softly, “I will not stop you from going.” And he nodded and looked away back into the sunlight that was streaming now over the castle rooftops and took a deep breath of the cool winds that were swirling across the ramparts.

“Thank you,” he told her, his voice quiet. “I mean it.” She smiled, then pushed herself up, until she was standing over him. 

“You get used to the dreams,” she told him, reading the truth of it in his eyes. “I’m meeting with the nobles of Amaranthine today, so rest up. Tomorrow morning…that is when we leave for the Wending Wood.” He watched her go then, quiet and calm, and for the first time felt a fullness of spirit that burgeoned into a ray of hope. He may be a Grey Warden, but she had given him the choice to stay. His choice. He smiled ever so slightly, glancing back down to the courtyard, and then he pushed himself up too. He was hungry. If he could not sleep, at least he might have some breakfast.

***

Eideann had opted for armor over any gown, and luckily her entire compliment of Grey Wardens were dressed just the same. She did not need to win over Amaranthine as the Queen, no matter what her advisors might say. She needed to win over Amaranthine as the one who had slain the Archdemon. That was a respect they could not deny. 

One by one they came forward, dressed in their silks and satins and velvets, cloaks bearing the emblems of obscure and well-known houses alike to swear their fealty to the new Arlessa of Amaranthine. She saw the contempt in Bann Esmerelle’s eyes, the gentle question – Did she remember him? – in Lord Eddelbrek’s, the severe and solemn silence in the eyes of the Knights that made Amaranthine their home. Some of the men she knew, of course, from years of living not so far away. These had been her father’s vassals as much as they had been Rendon Howe’s. Some knew her from years as a child. Some saw her a child still.

 _I killed an Archdemon._ The thought brought her strength.

She had not expected Nathaniel to be there, but he was lurking in his Grey Warden tunic, eyes dark as he watched the proceeding. She could feel the anger in him, the tension and the quiet. He was watching her, but he was angry with them too, like it were a betrayal, the entire thing, and he were ashamed to be the one remnant left over to witness it. 

Anders was laughing by the drinks table with Oghren who was once again trying to drown whatever sorrows he had in that moment. Perhaps even he did not know.

At last the final lord came forth, a meek Ser Tamra who was the least of all of them, with barely three freeholders under her purvey, and she seemed very nervous as she approached and made her bow. 

“I promise that I, Ser Tamra, will be faithful to the Arlessa in matters of life, limb, and earthly honor. Never will I bear arms against her or her heirs. So I say in the sight of the Maker.” She looked about nervously, and Eideann beckoned her closer, stepping down from the dais step herself. The woman swallowed. “We’ve…all heard so much about you. So many good things. Unbelievable things!” she said, and Eideann smiled slightly, giving a bow of head.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Ser Tamra.” The woman still looked concerned. Eideann motioned for her to walk with her, and they skirted the main group of socializing lords to approach the drink table. Best to hide discussion with movement and seeming busy, Eideann had long since learned.

“But…many of your deeds cost people here a chance a great advancement,” Ser Tamra said quietly, keeping her eyes down. “So many fortunes were deeply intertwined with the old Arl.” Eideann nodded, because this was not news. After all, she had known as much when she came to Amaranthine. She had recognized the threat of vassals of Arl Howe who would rise and fall with him might pose to her and the Grey Wardens. At least this Ser Tamra appeared on her side. The woman bent to pour a drink, and Eideann saw her hands were shaking. She reached to catch the cup, her fingers brushing Ser Tamra’s and forcing the woman to look up sharply, eyes frightened. Eideann met them and gave a quiet nod. “Some nobles here…” the knight said quietly, her blond braids falling about her face, “they seek to end your dominion over them.” Eideann sighed, glancing to the drinks table before pouring herself a cup and then drinking deeply of it. The honeyed flavor burst on her tongue and she gave the slightest of smiles.

“I know,” she said quietly. “This much I’ve gathered already.” Ser Tamra gave her a worried glanced, steadying her cup in both hands. 

“Perhaps…you do not know the full _extent_ of their determination,” she said softly, eyes narrowed. Her gaze was the grey of the Coastlands like so many others. “I’ve had…occasion to intercept some of their missives.” Eideann raised an eyebrow. “They are cryptic things,” Ser Tamra admitted. “Any individual message is unintelligible. But together they form a pattern.” Her eyes slipped to the room a moment, then she drew a shaking breath. “They mean to end you before you can begin,” she said quietly, “a deadly coalition.” Eideann glanced towards the wall, pondering a moment, and then wet her lips, sighing before taking another drink.

“I suppose I should be flattered,” she said simply, shaking her head. 

“I would take this matter seriously, Your Majesty,” Ser Tamra said sharply. The woman was scared for her life. Eideann met her gaze and nodded. “They know of your capabilities and they are spending a fortune to see their aims fulfilled!”

“And what is your role in this, Ser Tamra?” Eideann asked quietly. “You bring me this news here of all places at great risk.” Ser Tamra swallowed, looking to her feet.

“I was on the field at Denerim, my Lady. I saw the Archdemon fall. I fought the darkspawn for you. I would not see you harmed here in the lands I call my home.” Eideann was touched. She drew a breath, considering the woman in a new light, and then smiled ever so slightly.

“Ser Tamra, I am grateful for the risk and the concern.” She nodded.

“Given a few days, I can bring the missives here to you,” Ser Tamra said, her voice a little stronger now, but still quiet, still wary. “I would have brought them tonight, but I did not know if it was wise to warn you. I have much to lose and precious little to gain.” 

“I understand,” Eideann said softly. This woman was risking everything for her. It was the most amount of loyalty she had had from Amaranthine in its entirety. She bent her head. “You have my sincere thanks, Ser Tamra. I hope I prove worthy of your risk.” Ser Tamra gave her a soldier’s bow, brows knitted, and then turned away, crossing the floor to return to the party, which left Eideann standing by the drinks to consider.

Her eyes skimmed to the party, and she sighed as they fell on Nathaniel, who was standing not far away, a goblet of something rich and dark in his hand, looking like he were being made to drink poison. She met his eyes, and a bitter sneer twisted his lips. He wanted to hate her, let him hate her.

“I did not think you would come,” she said softly, approaching him, careful to give him the space to move away. He did not. Instead he just broke eye contact.

“Don’t worry,” he said coldly. “I’ll keep my mouth firmly shut.”

“Or you could make your presence known,” Eideann said simply. “Do as you will. Many of these people would be put at comfort if you would deign to say hello, and if they understood we worked towards the same goal.” He scoffed, looking away.

“Play your game, Cousland? I don’t think so. I’m a Grey Warden, and that is enough. I don’t have to dance to your tune as well.” 

“No,” she agreed. “You’d rather dance to your father’s.” He shot her an evil glare and she turned her back, glancing back over her shoulder to him. “Sulk in the corner if you like. Let everyone see that the scions of the Howes, a family once proud to stand at Calenhad’s side, has sunk to moping about lost honor instead of standing with their heads tall and owning their own.” Her voice dropped a little, and she let the venom slide from her tone. “I promise we _will_ find Delilah.” He sighed, looked away.

“Thank you,” he muttered, sounding ungrateful, and she simply gave him a slight bow of head in her regal manner and then slipped away to mingle.

A few of the nobles had legitimate news for her. Someone had spotted raiders further along the coastline. She would need to be aware of their presence, and put a stop to such activities if they became troublesome. Others were concerned about the news coming from further west in the Feravel Plains and the foothills of the Coastlands where the hunters had told her they had discovered a Deep Roads entrance. She was worried about that herself. She assuaged their fears as best she could, because she did plan to do something about them all, even if they thought her words pretty lies for that night alone. 

And then there were others, who drew close to converse, eyes concerned and worried. One was Lord Eddelbrek, clad in a rough Highever weave tunic instead of fine silks, and wearing a mantle lined with fur. His hair was white and his brow wrinkled with age. At his approach, she smiled, recognizing him, and he gave her a low bow, bending to kiss her hand. 

“Your Majesty,” he said softly. “It is an honor to meet you. You come to us during desperate times.” Nearby, a red-haired knight with a disgusted look shook his head. Ser Timothy. 

“Not more about your precious farms, Eddelbrek?!” the man declared archly, shaking his head. Eideann glanced to him, then back to Lord Eddelbrek, who looked perturbed.

“Some,” he said simply, “do not have the comfort of city walls. One the plains the situation is _dire_.” Eideann raised her chin a little, meeting his gaze.

“My father called you a friend, Lord Eddelbrek. Speak your mind,” she said softly. A wash of relief took over him and he visibly eased. 

“So you _do_ remember me, Young Cousland,” he said simply, a smile touching his lips. “Although, you’re not so young anymore.” She felt a touch of sadness, and then drew a breath. He gave her a quiet look, knowing now she planned to hear him. Perhaps she could not play favorites, but she had always trusted in her father’s judgment. With one exception it had never failed him. And she trusted too her own. He had no animosity in his eyes. He had nothing to lose by Arl Howe’s fall. He had everything to gain here, now, and he needed help. There was a tinge of desperation in her eyes. He gave her a deep bow. “I swear to you and Andraste that I had no part in Howe’s treachery.” 

“The only one who had any part in that is Rendon Howe himself,” Eideann said quietly, “and that business is done. Let us put it behind us.” He nodded, and she felt a few other weary looks from about the room. Lord Eddelbrek rose again. “Tell me of the farms.”

“As we feast,” he said with a disturbed look, “the peasants on our land are starving or worse.” 

“The city’s defenses are more important, Eddelbrek,” Ser Timothy said simply. Eideann looked between them. 

“There may be wheat in the silos now,” Eddelbrek countered, “but if the farmers die, where will you get your food?” He had a point. With the military having drawn from the men of the region long ago under Cailan’s banner, and the second wave sweeping massive numbers into Denerim to face the horde, there were precious enough soldiers now to see to all the defenses. She had been to the City of Amaranthine itself, and even with its defenses, there was no gate, and the smugglers plied their trade while innocent people desperately tried to get inside. People driven from farms due to fear and the darkspawn attacks. People driven north by bandits in the Wending Wood. 

Even if they could go home, would they? Much of the protection of the city currently went to turning the needy away. If the needy could return to their farms, feel secure in doing so…

She sighed.

“I will take the matter under advisement,” she said softly, glancing between them both.

“Thank you, my liege,” Lord Eddelbrek said. Eideann simply gave him a single nod. A clear and mocking laugh rang out across the chamber as Bann Esmerelle, the only true Bann under the Arling’s command, crossed the carpets to join them, rubies in her ears and sparkling in her coronet like she were trying to impress everyone there. But this was not Denerim, and Eideann herself was in armor. Eideann glanced to her, and the woman looked her over with cold eyes, judging her worth. 

“I see that Lord Eddelbrek wastes no time in canvassing you for soldiers to defend his farms,” she said sharply, her voice a low drawl. “Do not be _deceived_ , Commander.” Eideann noted she had chosen a lesser title than the royal Majesty. “His livelihood is all he cares about.” Eideann raised an eyebrow, considering the Bann in silence. Bann Esmerelle took that as permission to ply her own troth. “Amaranthine is the jewel of the Arling, and she _must_ be protected. It was built over generations. If she falls, then this great Arling will be diminished.” 

“Wealth is well and good,” Lord Eddelbrek said darkly, staring at Bann Esmerelle with distaste, “but what measure do you put to human life? The folk in the country outnumber your city-dwellers many times over.” Bann Esmerelle simply gave him a distasteful smirk.

“I would not be so _vulgar_ ," her eyes skimmed his rough tunic, “as to violate the decorum of this event.” 

“No, indeed, we should definitely make sure not to mention such distasteful topics as the death of innocents and the starvation of a population,” Eideann said simply. “Everyone knows when lives are on the line, all the best Arls defend their jewels over their people.” Bann Esmerelle’s eyes flashed, and her smile slipped. She gave a small bow of head, then retreated a few steps and turned her back. Eideann watched her go, pushing down the anger, and then wet her lips. “Lord Eddelbrek, you shall have your soldiers. As many as I can spare. I intend to ride south anon to clear the Wending Wood route between the Arling and Denerim, and when that is done I imagine that the trade will enable people to return to their homes. We shall ensure those homes are kept safe.” She sighed. “As for Amaranthine, Captain Aidan there has informed me of the work he is doing to secure the capital, and I have conferred with him already as to the best methods of securing it against potential darkspawn incursions. If my people can protect the farmholds, all of Amaranthine can be fed, including the City. I have no time to waste on jewels when blood is being spilled on the grass.” She gave him a bow of head and he stared and watched her go as she swept across the carpet back towards the dais. 

Seneschal Varel met her there, looking a bit alarmed at her sudden and abrupt approach and decision.

“Seneschal,” she said simply, “Amaranthine has its walls. Let the farms have our soldiers.” He gave her a soldier’s salute, recognizing it as a military command, and nodded.

“As you wish, Commander.” She turned back towards the nobility, then sighed, sipping from her goblet again. 

“Another thing,” she added quietly over the rim of the cup. “I’ve heard that some of the nobles have it in their minds to kill me. I’m hardly surprised, but I do think that sort of thing should be stopped before they succeed.” 

“Do you know who?” The Seneschal asked, his brow creasing a little. She shook her head.

“At a guess?” she said, giving him a wry look, and he sighed.

“The right of High Justice is yours,” he said warily. “Treachery is a capital offense.” Eideann mused a moment, considering the nobles mingling in the hall, and then sighed, her voice quiet.

“Keep watch on Ser Tamra,” she told him carefully. “I worry she may be in danger.” Varel swallowed, then gave a quiet nod and turned to murmur something to Captain Garavel beside him.

“There are…options,” he said quietly, when at last he turned back. “Some I would not recommend. They might turn the nobles fierce.” 

“Oh?” She glanced to him and he sighed.

“We could have some soldiers try to spy on the nobility,” he said with hesitation. “I suppose that _might_ bear fruit.” 

“Or turn into a complete disaster,” Eideann said simply. “Soldiers are not always the best spies.” He nodded his glum agreement.

“Well, you could invite a member of each of the noble families to stay as prolonged…guests,” he said after a moment, his voice flat. “And if anything untowards happens…” She sighed, shaking her head.

“I shall think on it, Seneschal. I rather imagine that sealing the Deep Roads beneath the Keep would prove vital before such a step were taken, and I don’t know that I want all their sons and daughters and nephews and nieces crowding my hall and knowing where I sleep.” She shook her head. “For the moment, I shall let it be. If they decide to trap me, they are welcome to try. Better men than they have tried.” She sighed and considered him with a small smile.

“Yes, it is a terribly Orlesian thing to do,” Varel agreed. Eideann finished off her goblet, peering across the hall, then reached to set it down on the arm of the throne. 

“The ceremony has gone on long enough, Varel. Give me my hall back, if you please?” she said, and then swept by him, hearing him call out to the nobles in her wake.

“Clear the hall! Her Majesty has business to attend to!” She went instead to the door where the guest rooms stood, before the hall had even been cleared, and trusted Varel to see it done. Her mind was racing as she tried to work out the details of this newest plot. Oh there were suspicions, but then there always were. These people, though, were far more likely to succeed where Loghain’s plots had failed. 

She let herself into her chambers, noting that the fire had banked itself low over the day, and sighed, turning to pull off her armor and rack it on the stand beside the door. She was just about to pull off her tunic, when she heard something skitter by the window, and she glanced about to catch sight of a familiar face the likes of which she had never hoped to see again. 

“Tsk tsk, _Bella_ , what would your King think, removing all your clothes in front of a different man.” She breathed a sigh of relief, then gave a soft laugh.

“Zevran! What are you doing here?” He slid off the window and onto the floor, boots soft on the carpets, and gave her a smirk. She glanced to the window, slightly ajar, and he turned to close it carefully until the casement was shut. “How did you even get up here?”

“I am a Crow, _Bella_ , I flew,” he said with a grin. She shook her head.

“It’s wonderful to see you,” she insisted, tears pricking at her eyes. “I’ve missed you. All of you.” Zevran simply crossed his arms and leaned against her bedpost.

“And I you,” he told her simply, watching as she sank into a seat in the armchair before the low flames. “Now, _Bella_ , tell me everything I have missed. Start with the part where someone else is trying to kill you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND WE'RE BACK!
> 
> Thank you all so much for your patience. I know it's been such a long time since the last update. I ended up distracted by my series Silver and Gold which features and AU setting with Eideann front and center. Some of you found that, and others may not have. Silver and Gold is now completed, however, and Dances in Darkness is now my primary focus, so expect far more regular updating as before and a quicker pace once again.
> 
> Thanks for bearing with me! I love all my readers! I promise not to leave you like this again! <3 ~HigheverRains


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road to the Wending Wood, Nathaniel learns some ugly truths about his father; Eideann has suspicions about the source of the caravan attacks; Oghren reveals he has been having bad dreams, and Eideann must put her new recruits' minds at ease regarding the darkspawn; an encounter with an angry elf proves all is not well in the Wending Wood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: violence
> 
> Comments always welcome :)
> 
> <3 All my lovely readers!

There was a chill in the air from the autumnal storms as they gathered in cloaks and armor before the stable gates. Anders was leaning on his new staff, a red heartwood shaft with a lyrium core that he said sang. It had a dragon’s head on one end, and a sharp blade over the handholds, a morning star mace head at the bottom in the mud. Nathaniel considered him, running a block of beeswax down his ancestral bow, eyes narrow. And then finally he spoke.

“How do the Templars always find you?” He felt the apostate’s eyes burn as they turned on him, but refused to look up, sliding the beeswax block along the bowstring again. Finally the mage answered, all sarcasm as usual.

“Incredibly angry,” Ander’s said. “That’s how they find me.” Nathaniel shook his head.

“There must be some trick to it, surely.” Anders’ laugh filled the morning air, dampened only by the rain.

“They began recruiting women,” he muttered. “The male Templars never stopped to ask for directions.” Nathaniel’s gaze slid upward to the brown ones that were staring at him across the square like they were laying out a challenge. 

“You’re impossible to talk to,” he finally said.

“I do my best.” The mage shrugged and then adjusted the straps of his horse’s saddle, sighing. “Anyway, why would I tell you?” 

“Because we’re both Grey Wardens? And if they show up, I’ll want to know how they found us?” Anders just grinned and stepped into the stirrup, hauling himself up with an ease that spoke he had clearly spent some time doing it before. Nathaniel gave him a flat look, and Anders just shook his head.

“Blood magic,” he said simply, and then turned his horse’s head away, trotting the creature across the square. Nathaniel sighed, then shouldered his bow and slipped his beeswax into a pouch affixed to the quiver at his back. And then he too mounted up. 

There was no reason everyone had to be so disagreeable. 

A smelly dwarf, a sarcastic apostate, and the woman who had murdered his father to make herself Queen. Just wonderful.

Eideann came striding out of the Keep then, cloak billowing out behind her, swords over both shoulders glittering with runes. One was the Cousland family blade, and the other had belong to King Maric himself once. Nathaniel sighed, considering the woman, and then narrowed his eyes.

Every inch of his mind wanted to hate her, wanted her to pay. But the more she spoke to him, and the more he learned, the harder that was becoming. And she was doing right by the people of Amaranthine. She was handling the problems themselves. She had given him his choice to join the Grey Wardens, left the option of that duty to him. He swallowed hard and looked away. 

At her side was an elf, clad in a cloak of green and wearing veridium and gurgut hide armor that glistened wetly in the rain. He gave Eideann a small smirk and a bow before cutting across the square past them without another word. Maker, it was like her people owned the place.

Her people did own the place. She was Arlessa now.

That smarted a little. He had no desire to be the Arl, though when he was younger the idea that the title might pass to Thomas instead of him had been a thorn in his side. Now, it bothered him more how she had won it. Murder should not be rewarded.

_And your father was a murderer…_

He pushed that thought away, disbelieving it, like it would disappear with the power of thought. He would not believe her stories. She had every reason to lie to him.

And yet…had she? He was not sure.

He adjusted his seat and watched her mount her chestnut Fereldan Forder with the ease and grace of any noble lady. She considered them all with somber eyes through the rain, their saddlebags loaded with camping gear and supplies.

“I’d like this to be a short trip,” she said simply. “We’re prepared for no more than a week’s camping, but I’d rather this were dealt with quickly.” Her eyes fixed on Nathaniel then, and he stared back, determined not to look away first. She surprised him with a slight smile. “Do you think you can find that granite quarry and the old silverite mine?” He blinked.

“Probably,” he finally admitted. It had been some time since last he had heard it, but he was a good tracker, and she was apparently good at it as well. Between the two of them, they were bound to find something. And anyway, he had no desire to inhibit her here. There was a lot of sense in seeing the Vigil’s walls made stronger, its soldiers better armed. Even he could see his ancestral home was slowly threatening to crumble into dust.

And that entrance below the Keep? He shuddered to think at what was down in those depths. Ancient dwarven halls were no place for those who dwelled on the surface. He would rather have lived a thousand lifetimes than known about that entrance below. How many years as a child had he slept above that entrance unknowing? 

Thinking of those deep tunnels made him also think of Adria, and that hurt. So he forced the thoughts away and focused instead on the feeling of rain on his flesh, his arms, even with the hood of the fur-lined Warden cloak about his ears and the rest fastened securely at his throat.

At least he had new gear. That was something. After he had left Ser Rodolphe Varley’s service in Kirkwall, he had not even had his own armor that did not bear the Varley crest, and so he had come home in peasant rags, or near enough. He missed those years now, though he had rebelled when first he was sent. He had served at the court of the Princes of the Starkhaven, visited Tantervale and been in the Grand Tourney, and had befriended the Viscount of Kirkwall’s gentle son before the word had reached him of his family’s downfall, and all those happy years had been stripped from him in an instant. This woman was the cause, the reason, the source of all that dishonor and embarrassment. 

And yet here, now, she had offered him a chance of salvation. And oh, it smarted, to think that he might need it. And worse, it set his heart to aching to think of Delilah lost somewhere in Amaranthine, to think of those nobles all bending and bowing and kissing her hands to win her favor, and to know that she had already won, and he could not have those things back. He could not have _that life_ back. But this…this was a chance.

The road south was thick with mud, and they road almost in silence for some time until at last Oghren was bored enough and settled well enough on his pony that he could venture some conversation. And then he would not shut up. The man sang, badly, drunken dwarven drinking songs, and then he got to talking. He sidled his pony up to Nathaniels’ mount and grinned.

“You know,” he said in a voice heavy with alcohol for someone so early in the morning, “when your father took over the Arl of Denerim’s palace, he moved his bedroom next to the dungeon.” Nathaniel froze, feeling a wrack of horror go through him, and then anger.

“What are you talking about?” he snapped. The dwarf gave a crude chuckle.

“Sounds like someone liked to nip down for a bit of torture before bedtime,” he jeered. Nathaniel reined in his horse, staring, and Oghren glanced back at him with a grin. 

“Why are you telling me this?” he demanded. Oghren smirked.

“Everyone needs daddy issues. Just trying to help,” he said simply.

“Oghren!” the name was like a shot of ice through them both, and the dwarf looked up to see Eideann had turned her horse to glare at him. Nathaniel glared back at her a moment, then looked away, disgusted. Eideann simply stared at the dwarf, her face a mask of cold distaste.

“Commander,” Oghren smirked, rocking a little atop his pony. “Just thought the lad should know what he’s getting into. Everyone knows the stories.” 

“Enough!” Eideann said. Her voice was full of sharp command. Nathaniel was almost grateful for it, if it did not burn with shame.

“But – !”

“Shall we speak about Hespith and Laryn?” Eideann said. There was a dark cruelty in her tone now, and Oghren’s face twisted like he had eaten a lemon.

“That nug-humping poetess…” he snarled. “You know better than to go there.”

“So,” Eideann said, “do you. Leave it be, Oghren, or so help me…”

“The boy should know!” Oghren spat, but nudged his horse past her own and she watched him go. Nathaniel stared at his retreating back, and then his eyes flickered to Eideann. For a moment he said nothing, and then she turned her horse and carried on, without another word. He shuffled up beside her, keeping his eyes on the path ahead.

“Is it true?” he asked, hardly daring to think. Part of him did not want to know. Part of him was sure the dwarf was lying. Oghren was unreliable, he knew that much already, but the tone had been so serious. Eideann did not look at him.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “It’s true.” And they both fell silent then, because he did trust that she would not lie to him. She had lost enough at his family’s hands that she had no need to lie about this as well. She had already destroyed the Howes, and the Couslands had never been the vindictive sort. Nathaniel felt a cold wave of fury wash through him, and then he felt very tired. “I’m sorry,” he finally heard her say. “But you are not your father.” And then she nudged her horse forward, giving him space to be alone. 

Before long the winding path began to gather foliage and trees. And the cloudy sky finally stopped raining long enough for a little light to flicker through the storm-clouds. He had come this way as a child, often, riding with Thomas and Delilah, or sometimes with friends. He could not even recall their names now. He recognized some of the paths however, and thought with nostalgia on those lost days, and it made him angry to think that bandits now owned those paths and were making people in the north suffer for the lack of trade. That, at least, he had in common with Queen Eideann Cousland-Theirin: a determination to see Amaranthine succeed. 

He gritted his teeth and raised his chin and spurred his horse forward to where Anders was leading the way, and then shot past the mage and further along the path, trying to get some distance without feeling left behind. He was so tired now of being left behind. 

The Wending Wood was an old sort of place, the kind that held fast to memories long forgotten. He had always felt unsettled there, and always felt a little on edge in its leafy glades and dark copses. The Brecilian Forest to the south was often tall and leafy trees that turned to fire in the autumn, but the Wending Wood was always the green of needles and fir. Even in the depths of winter when the snows fell heavy upon them all and the caravan paths were buried in banks of white, those trees stayed green, eternal, and it unnerved him just a little. 

The Dalish in the area stayed often in the Wending Wood, as was their wont. The Dalish always kept to the places where humans were uncomfortable. He knew of several landship clans that had travelled through the area in his youth. Whether they still frequented the place, he could not tell.

He skirted a deep puddle of mud, and paused his mount to wait then, listening to the stillness of the wood beyond. There were no animals, which put him guard, and when at last the other three Grey Wardens caught up to him, he could see from a single glance to Eideann Cousland that she had picked up on much the same thing. And there was something else.

“I smell fire,” he told her in a quiet voice. She nodded.

“Be wary.”

The fire came from the remains of a wagon, set alight across the road not far from their stopping place. As they approached, wary and careful, he could feel the weight of somber duty settling over them all. The fire had to be recent, because the wagon was still fairly solid, and the rains from earlier would have doused any flames that had been set in the morning. Instead, the smoke was a black column in the sky, making the air thick and hard to breathe in, and the goods of the cart had been spilled across the road. 

“Bandits wouldn’t be so careless,” he said quietly.

“I agree,” Eideann said in return, eyes narrowed as she considered the upturned wares. “Why fire the caravan and not take the goods? There’s something else at work here.” 

But there were indeed bandits as well, because further beyond, they could hear the soft sound of laughter like someone was camping nearby, and that spoke volumes. 

“It isn’t the merchants,” Eideann said, pointedly turning her gazes on the charred remains of bodies piled to burn. 

“The merchant’s guild must be losing a lot of money and a lot of people,” Nathaniel said, and slipped from his horse, reaching for his bow to nock an arrow. “We go carefully.” 

“We’ll circle behind. Anders, with me.” Eideann disappeared then, back up the road, the mage going with her.

“Straight in the front. Just how I like it,” Oghren grinned, but Nathaniel shook his head.

“Carefully,” he said quietly. “I want to know how many there are, and why they have not been attacked like the caravans.” At least in this Eideann and he were of one mind. At least when it came to capturing bandits and securing trade routes, they could act as one. He was grateful there was no question in regards to _that_.

Oghren simply gave him a flat look, grumbled something, and then stomped through the undergrowth, pine needles cracking beneath his feet. Nathaniel drew a slow breath, shaking his head, because how could they ever be quiet with this man along. Anyone downwind would be able to smell him too. How could he be so drunk so early? 

The bandits were bent around a campfire, cooking something that looked suspiciously like a late lunch stolen from the burning caravans. They had been there awhile, because they had set up tents. Nathaniel skirted the camp at a fair distance, careful of running into trouble, and saw the flicker of Eideann and Anders moving further beyond in the trees. 

And then the sound of something coming towards them across the pine needles made him freeze, and he found himself face to face with one of the bandits. Who stared a moment, then made as if to scream. Nathaniel ended him with an arrow to the chest, watching him fall, then nocked another and rose to his full height drawing the string back to his cheek and letting a second fly as fire exploded in the center of the camp. Anders had made his move. And then Eideann was in the middle of it, and Oghren charged forwards, knocking Nathaniel off balance a little, roaring some war cry or other about nug-humpers and his ex-wife. 

The bandits reacted in several ways. Some stood their ground to fight. But others fled into the woods. And that was when Nathaniel caught sight of Anders and realized he had not been the source of the flames. Anders was staring, eyes wild, beyond the camp where a flaming tree was stalking towards them with creaking limbs and an unearthly roar that shook the ground beneath them. Nathaniel froze too, staring, until Eideann shoved him out of the way, catapulting through the trees.

“Get down!” she cried, her voice breaking his trance, and he ducked as flame shot over his head, shattering some of the trees behind him and setting the needles alight. 

They raced through the wildfire as it spread, leaping from brush to brush. They were barely ahead of the flames. Anders cast a vast swathe of ice in their wake with some effort, quelling the flames that licked at their heals, but still it came, roaring to life in the damp undergrowth, catching at needles that lay paces deep as a carpet across the ground. How long since last the Wending Wood burned? The fuel that lay there was abundant. They were lucky for the rains. 

They reached their panicking horses in moments, and Eideann swung herself up ahead, spurring the steed forward towards an outcropping of hills where there would be a natural fire-line. 

“Get to the top!” she called back to them, taking her horse up the steep path until it ended. The fires drew against the rocks but could not go further, and the path was scree and stone and would not burn. Behind them the burning trees were catching alight, but some of them shifted and moved and roared great oaken roars. They stood together atop the stone outcropping, staring at the display of smoldering wood and smoke, and Eideann gave a low curse.

“Sylvans,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Sorry, _what_?” Nathaniel demanded. Oghren looked disconcerted and reached for his flask to drink away what he was seeing. Eideann sighed, sliding from her horse and calming it as best she could. 

“Spirits or demons that have possessed trees. My guess is a rage demon if the fire is any indication. But these won’t last long for that very same reason. We fought them with fire last time. And if they are on fire already, then it’s safe to assume they’re recently possessed.”

“So you’ve seen these things before?” Anders asked, look flat and unimpressed. Eideann just nodded, rolling her shoulders.

“The Brecilian Forest is full of them. One there could speak, but only in rhyme.” She looked between them, then blinked. “What?”

“Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?” Nathaniel asked, arching an eyebrow. 

“Well, it means we’re either facing a weakened Veil or a mage that can summon spirits or demons and force them into trees.” She pulled her saddlebags from her horse. “We’ll establish a camp here for the night where at least the fire won’t reach us.” But she looked worried. “I was hoping to encounter one of the Dalish clans that runs through the region, but it seems we’re out of luck for the day.” Nathaniel sighed, reaching for his own saddlebags. 

“Why would the Dalish help us?” he muttered. 

“Because they know me,” Eideann said fiercely, looking up at him. They came to our aid when the Blight ravaged the city, three clans of them. I had hoped to find Keeper Ilshae’s clan at least. They came from this area originally.” 

“No one’s heard from the Dalish clans since the Blight,” Anders said simply. He had been on the run and would probably have heard news, so Nathaniel was willing to bet that was true. 

“I heard a clan had fled northward to outside Kirkwall,” Nathaniel offered himself. “But nothing from in Amaranthine.”

“People have been too busy to notice elves sticking to the wooded lands,” Eideann said quietly, shaking her head. “It’s no surprise they have gone unnoticed. It was a task trying to find them the first time.” She spread out her bedroll on the rock and then hurried to throw up a makeshift shelter over it, choosing spaces where the stone met to wedge in the pegs of her tent. She made it big enough for all of them, which meant suddenly they would all be sleeping side by side. Nathaniel felt a pang of discomfort at that, and shook his head.

“I’m…going to see if I can’t find something for us to eat.” 

“Be careful,” Eideann said softly, but let him go. So he slipped back down the lee of the rock away from the brush fires that were smoldering before them and took a different path into the woods where the animals would have fled.

***

Eideann sighed, peering at the rabbit skewered on the stick in her hands before turning it slowly over. Beside her the others were quiet, and a slow and steady rain had begun to pour again, dousing the flames in the clearing below and sending the scent of smoke and burnt pine high into the air about them. She had her hood up about her ears to keep the water from her head, but even an oiled cloak could not hold off the damp forever, and it felt heavy with soaking rain.

Beside her, Anders was sitting, knees drawn up to his chest, staring into the wilderness with a quiet and haunted look. Oghren was hunched over the fire, muttering about the rain to himself and poking at the sputtering flames with a stick. Nathaniel was standing in his cloak with the horses, his hand on one beast’s neck, as they settled into the darkness.

“So,” Anders finally said, glancing to Eideann. She looked up and he narrowed his eyes. “It’s obvious by now that there is some connection between those…sylvans and the destruction of the caravans. Thoughts?”

“And why were you so set on finding Dalish elves here?” Nathaniel asked, looking back over his shoulder, never taking his hand from the horse’s neck.

“Because Keeper Ilshae’s clan was here prior to the Blight, and when the Keeper brought her forces to our aid at Soldier’s Peak only a few months ago, they were already significantly weakened from attacks in this region. Half of her clan had splintered off to follow her First. I had hoped perhaps to find them here, though I do not even know if they would listen to a Grey Warden human Queen.” She sighed, hanging her head and twisting the spit again carefully. “It was an idea, nothing more. And if it will not work out...well…” She lifted the rabbit from the fire and tested it with her fingers before nodding and tearing it into chunks for each of them to eat. Nathaniel turned back to join them, crouching in the open space before the fire and reaching for some of the meat with a quiet stare.

“So you did not even know if they would listen to you?” he asked her frankly, eyes settling on her in judgment.

“I wouldn’t know unless I tried,” she replied quietly. “Alistair and I have grant lands in the Wilds for the Dalish to claim as their own, and the Brecilian Forest is theirs as well by rights. I am not without some bargaining chips.” 

“Oh good, because here I thought we were just wandering into dangerous woods on a whim,” Anders muttered. Eideann sighed and said nothing, simply focusing on eating. In the distance, a wolf howl cut through the dimming light. It would be dark soon. 

“We’ll rest up and carry on in the morning when it’s light again,” Eideann finally decided, settling back. “The woods won’t be safe at night, and if we are dealing with sylvans, whether by a damaged veil or a renegade mage, we’d be better off being able to see. It’s hard enough to tell them from real trees as it is.” She finished the last of her own dinner and then slid herself back onto her bedroll. “Anders, you and Oghren take first watch. Nathaniel and I will take over after midnight.” Anders sighed, sniffing, and then Eideann shook her head and turned her back on them. 

“What are we watching for?” Oghren asked grumpily. “Blight wolves? Talking trees? By the tits of my ancestors, it could be anything.”

“Schleets, even,” Anders said simply, and Eideann gave a slight smile, closing her eyes and shifting into as comfortable position as she could manage in her plate. She was not about to take it all off when there were dangers clearly present and they were not entirely safe. 

“What in sod’s name is a schleet?!” Oghren demanded. 

“Oh, they’re very common in Ferelden,” Anders mused, and the fire crackling like he was tending it. “They lie on the ground, looking like ordinary pairs of pants, until you turn around. And that’s when they strike of course. But with all these burning caravans…why they’ll be camouflaged, won’t they?” Eideann suppressed a snicker. She heard a hint of fear in Oghren’s voice.

“Lying duster!” he spat. “They’re not real.”

“Of course they are,” Anders insisted. “They have a fondness for eyeballs especially. Be careful, my fine smelly friend, and keep an eye out for danger, or you may lose that eye.” 

“He’s full of rubbish,” Nathaniel muttered. “Now shut up. I’m trying to get some sleep.” Eideann just shook her head and turned over, her back to her companions, and focused on the darkness that had settled over the camp, listening to the sounds of the woods. 

How long it seemed since last she slept under simple shelter with companions. It was nice, in some ways, and also horrible. She battled back the impending memories with different thoughts instead.

She hated to admit it, but she really had wanted to find some of Keeper Ilshae’s clan out there, even if only to prove some had survived. So many of the Dalish had been lost in the Battle of Denerim, those valiant fighters. She owed it to them, perhaps, to see justice done. She had learned that Keeper Ilshae’s clan had been driven from the wood by humans setting the brush alight, and the more she thought of it, the more it made sense. Burning sylvans, potentially a renegade mage, human caravans being attacked, here of all places, and with fire. 

Somewhere at the heart of it, she suspected she would find Keeper Ilshae’s clan, or the other half at least, and the woman’s absent First was a mage as well? Or so Eideann believed. 

She hoped this would be something she might solve simply. She did not want this bloodshed to continue. She was fine giving part of the Wending Wood to the Dalish if that was what they wanted. It was itself a large enough forest for them to stay if they did not want to travel south. 

Mervis had said the caravans were burned to ashes, but they knew that included the goods. Mervis had also told her that people from the nearby villages had gone missing and were discovered hanging in trees or murdered in the square. Those were not the works of darkspawn. This was something far more personal.

She did not want to think it, but she had only one explanation, and at its center was whatever remained of Keeper Ilshae’s clan, seeking vengeance for the wrongs done to them in the months before the Blight. 

She hoped she was wrong. She needed it to be wrong. But she also knew better than to think such connections were false. Somewhere prices were paid in the world, and all things came full circle. 

She slept fitfully for only a few hours before being startled away by Nathaniel, who nudged her with his foot without care. She sat up, sighing, to find that Oghren and Anders had both drifted off. Nathaniel looked less than impressed.

Eideann let them sleep. She had no interest in exhausted soldiers. But she did make a mental note to inform them such behavior was unacceptable in the morning. Oghren, at the very least, should have known better.

Something was eating at him, she knew. He was bottom-deep in the bottle again all the time now, like he had been before they had found Branka, or in the aftermath. She had thought after they had finally reached Redcliffe, when he had started to see the opportunities for him on the surface, that perhaps that habit had started to abate. But something had set him off again, and here he was, at her side again, clinging to anything familiar, including the bottle. She sighed.

“Where did you find this fool anyway?” Nathaniel said in distaste as they hauled the drunken dwarf towards his bedroll. Oghren was so drunk he did not even wake. 

“Oghren of House Branka was once one of the greatest of the Orzammar Warrior Caste,” Eideann told him quietly, her eyes narrow, feeling the pull at her heart, the truth in those words. “He was married to a dwarven Paragon, higher than even their Kings, a deshyr in their court.” She looked to Nathaniel who was listening with a healthy dose of skepticism. “Branka vanished into the Deep Roads in search of the secrets to recreating golems to save the dwarves from the darkspawn, and she left him behind. In his grief he turned to drink.” She turned away then, crossed instead to the stone ledge and sat down, settling her blades on her laps. He came to join her. She sighed. “He never gave up hope though. He insisted that she be found, that she had to be alive, and…he was right. He led us, Alistair and myself, to the Anvil of the Void and its creator Caridin, immortalized as a golem. And there he found his clan.” She looked to him, eyes sharp with anger, and she realized she was defensive. “House Branka was once two hundred strong. They had all been captured by the darkspawn. In the depths of the Deep Roads, they were tortured, until the women became broodmothers to birth a new horde, and the men became food for that purpose. Oghren helped us slay his cousin in those halls, the broodmother that had once been Laryn. And then he helped us kill his wife for sending them all to that fate.” She gritted her teeth. “That _fool_ as you call him came to the surface, gave up his entire life and caste below to fight by my side in the Blight when other dwarves hesitated. And when I asked him to hold the gates of Denerim against an entire darkspawn horde, he did. And he did not fail. I owe him my life, as do thousands of others.” She dropped her eyes, shaking her head. “He is a hero, and a great man, and there is no one I would rather have at my side against darkspawn than he. And if he chooses to drink to forget the monsters that lurk in his memories, I will not stop him.” She shook her head. “It worries me. But he has more reason than most to drink, I think.” Nathaniel was watching her, eyes like flint, when at last she looked up. And then finally he sighed.

“I…didn’t know.” 

“How could you? He wouldn’t tell anyone himself. The things we saw…” She shook her head.

“So he’s angry,” Nathaniel replied, considering her. She smiled, but there was no joy in it.

“He’s a berserker, Nate. He’s always angry.” Nate…she had not called him that since they were young. And then she had only ever done it once, because the other children were doing it. It had only rolled off the tongue this time, a slip up, a mistake. But he was considering her, like he did not know how to reply. She would not apologize for a moment of feeling familiar. They should be familiar, after all, and it was a matter of circumstance they were not. She simply looked away, drawing a deep breath. “The world is horrible to everyone in a thousand different ways. But we can choose to be good to one another. That I have to believe.” She could feel the rain seeping into her cloak again and pulled it close about her neck, huddling into the fur. “If I don’t believe that…nothing I do matters.” 

“I thought you…I thought you…” She glanced to him, but he looked away sharply, unable to find the words. Instead he rose, shaking his head. “I’m going to see that the horses are alright.” She watched his retreating back and swallowed hard the bitter taste in her mouth at the thought of the words almost spoken. And then she looked back towards the glade, the fires now completely doused, and shivered into the cold night and the rain. And she thought of home.

Not Denerim, where Alistair was, though certainly that was home for her now.

No, she thought of Highever, where Fergus was winning back the Teyrnir and putting the world to rights. And she thought of the wet waves on the docks, the rain that misted in the Highever fog, and the rhythm of the Waking Sea against the cliffs. She thought of her mother, and her father, and all the years she had spent in that sanctuary before there were bloodied halls and darkspawn and Archdemons, before there were responsibilities and duties and sacrifices. She sighed, hanging her head. It was much the same for Nathaniel, she knew, walking the halls where his family once lived, knowing that half were gone and his sister were somewhere, and nothing would be right again. They were not so different, she and he, not anymore. Sometimes the years drove people apart, but here, this once, they had been drawn closer.

That, at least, was somewhere they could start.

***

The rain let up again by the time the dawn broke, sending quiet rays of light across the gray skies. The trees smelled of damp pine, and the morning air clung with dew and raindrops. The campfire, long since gone out, was cold beside her. 

Nathaniel was meandering quietly nearby, though he disappeared shortly after light to find some breakfast and returned with berries scavenged from the woods and a small sack of apples that had been part of one of the destroyed caravans and were still edible. He held the sack out to her as they approached, suddenly more amiable this morning than previously. 

They ate in silence before waking the others, and Oghren turned his nose up at food of course before reaching immediately for his flask of lichen ale. Horrible stuff. Eideann watched with quiet eyes, and he met them just a moment before he narrowed them and looked away. And then he surprised her by pushing himself up and coming to stand beside her, shifting nervously.

“Commander…” he mumbled and she sighed. And then he looked hesitating. “Dreams…” he muttered, fixing her with a look, “do you get them?” Eideann blinked, then gave a quiet nod. “Dwarves…dwarves aren’t supposed to dream. We don’t dream…” he explained warily. “But I think I did.” He looked very unsettled. Unsettled enough to lower the flask a moment. “In…in my dream, I saw one of those bloated, vomit-smeared broodmothers, and it had Hespith’s face.” His eyes had the gleam of haunted memories behind them. “You remember Hespith, don’t ya?” Eideann drew a deep breath, nodding. 

“Yes,” she murmured. A look of…difficulty…crossed his face, and then he crossed his arms. 

“Branka was there, and whispered ‘It’s time.’ And Hespith screamed and a thousand darkspawn burst from her,” he told her in a tortured voice. Nearby, Eideann could see Nathaniel watching them with solemn and disconcerted eyes. “And then the darkspawn surrounded me,” Oghren continued, “and started talking, asking me if I would like lemon in my tea. And could I please teach them to read and write. And…and one of them kept repeating...’Where’s the baby?’ And that’s when I woke up.” Eideann blinked, then sighed, looking away and trying not to smile. The first could easily have been a darkspawn dream but the rest…

She had finally worked out why it was that Oghren had taken to drinking, and why he had appeared out of nowhere when he had been with Felsi in Redcliffe not too long before.

And then it struck her, cold like a knife sinking into her heart as she thought of her own empty womb, of Alistair and the heir they would never have. She wet her lips, her hand straying to her stomach only a moment before she remembered there was no reason. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she let out a sigh.

“I dream of the darkspawn,” she said loud enough for all their benefit. They would all have the nightmares now. Best they hear from her what they were experiencing was normal. “Just…not like that.” Her own nightmares were full of something else. And none of them had been forced to endure Urthemiel in their dreams like she had, like Alistair had. At least they had been spared that. 

“I do get other dreams about darkspawn,” Oghren muttered, looking away and finally drinking from his flask. “Mostly shadows and murmuring. But _nowhere_ as scary.” Eideann nodded, quieting her mind a moment and trying to listen for that murmur, but it was still oddly quiet. 

“The murmur is the voice of the Blight, but it’s oddly absent now,” she said quietly. “The attack on the Wardens prior to my arrival was so successful because, for whatever reason, we cannot sense these new darkspawn. That scares me. It should be part of our arsenal, to know when they are close. I wondered at first if it was not just me, and that perhaps the darkspawn sense was gone because of the Archdemon, but Alistair has been hearing the odd silence as well. So…be wary.” She pushed herself up. “And stop falling asleep on watch when I tell you to, or so help me…” 

“Sorry, Commander,” Anders said with a small smirk from his bedroll, reaching for some of the berries. “Won’t happen again.” She just gave him a quiet, serious look, and his own smirk faded. “We promise.” 

“Thanks for listening, Commander,” Oghren told her quietly, peering at the flask in his hands. She simply looked to him, and nodded, and then swallowed hard. Anders was watching her again with quieter brown eyes now, like he was reading the darkness in her soul itself. Maybe he was. Who knew what mages could do when they put their mind to it? But that knowing gaze reminded her in that moment of Wynne. 

They found a few caravans further along the road, all of them damaged and fired, but they managed to avoid any further encounters with sylvans. The Pilgrim’s Path spiraled up across a hill where an ancient watchtower had once stood before it headed southwards towards Denerim and the coast. They kept to the road, trusting that in time their foe would show themselves. After all, it was not just caravans that were being attacked, if the bandits were anything to go by.

Before long, they began to hear shouts in the wood, and Eideann called them to a halt. They were leading their mounts, not riding, and she carefully slipped to one side of the road to listen. 

A dried riverbed stood between them and the old watchtower, a rocky thing that had clearly once been a quarry. A wooden bridge had been built to cross it, but the bridge was old and worn. Eideann waited, listening ahead, and Nathaniel nocked an arrow carefully. His preparation did not go unnoticed. She thanked the Maker for another Coastland ranger at long last, even if it was Nathaniel Howe. 

There was an odd rustling in the wood, and Eideann went immediately on guard, suspecting more sylvans or something of that nature. But then a pair of bandits burst from the woods, one of them hauling the other out of the way in a race to get ahead, clearly fleeing something further back. They raced down the hill towards them, eyes wild with fear, hunted prey. Eideann drew the blades at her back and moved to intercept them. 

Any other bandits might have faced them down then and there, knowing themselves outlaws at the mercy of the law if they were caught. But these just raced towards her, desperate. One shoved by, but the other she stopped, barring the way with her sword.

“Out of my way!” he said in fright. “I need to get out of here!” 

“Hold,” Eideann said in a cold voice. “Explain yourself.” 

“No!” the man protested, trying to step around her. She put herself in his way. “You don’t understand!” he said desperately, glancing back in fear. “She’s after me!” 

“She?” Eideann said flatly. The bandit looked desperate, looking between them all.

“The elf!” he declared fiercely. “She makes the trees come alive! All we wanted was some easy money from the caravans! But - !” The wind shifted, and there was the sound of creaking wood. The man just about pissed himself, forcing his way through Eideann, cutting his hand on her sword as he shoved it out of his way. “Maker help me! She’s here!” Eideann sighed, watching him go, feeling her heart hurting, sinking. She had really hoped it would not be an elf.

There was the sound of something breaking high overhead on the hill where the watchtower once stood, and Eideann glanced up in time to see roots emerge from the ground, sharp and pointed and dangerous. They unfurled, and a woman stepped from among them, eyes cold and dangerous. She wore the light chain and the greens of the Dalish Keepers, and in her hand a staff of gnarled wood twisted. She looked down on them with disdain. 

“Another scavenger here to prey on the misfortunes of others?” the elf snapped, voice bitter and cold and choppy with anger. Rage demons and burning sylvans. Eideann pursed her lips. And then the Dalish elf considered her further, shaking her head. “No,” she mused, “you are too well armed. Here for _me_ then.” 

Eideann thought of Morrigan in that moment, though Maker help her she could not work out why. This Dalish mage was watching them with contempt, and Eideann recognized the danger in her. She drew a breath, and the elf sneered.

“You will not drive me from these forests,” she spat. “The shemlen could not do it, the darkspawn could not, and _you_ will fair no better.” Eideann grimaced, glancing back to the others, and then sighed, shaking her head.

“Why exactly would I be driving you away?” she asked simply, her voice flat. The elf’s mouth twisted into a snarl.

“Your kind have been hounding me for _months_!” she spat. “You killed my friends, and the merchants kidnapped my sister!” Eideann froze, listening, hearing her out. Sometimes a grievance was best spoken before it could be relieved. She thought of Keeper Ilshae, of her absent half a clan, and wondered how many were left, how many had indeed survived. And she suspected the worse.

“The caravans,” the elf called down, fists clenched, “are only the beginning. I want Seranni returned to me! Or more _will_ die! Deliver this message! Consider this a warning!” And then she reached up her arms, and the roots burst forth, and when they vanished again, she was gone. 

Eideann gritted her teeth, considering, and then reached to settled her horse which was panicking again. 

“What now?” Anders asked, his voice hesitant. Eideann simply sighed, hanging her head a moment.

“We’ve found the source of the caravan interruptions. We have to deal with the problem.”

“So, this is not what you were expecting when you thought to encounter the Dalish?” Nathaniel said darkly, his voice flat. He was making fun of her, she could tell. She simply raised her chin and glanced up the path.

“It does not matter,” she said quietly, “what matters is something is afoot. Her sister is missing, we have an ultimatum, and she has confirmed something else for us, something that matters far more.” She looked to them with an even glance, her gaze finally falling at last on Nathaniel. “There are darkspawn in the Wending Wood.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill goes in search of knowledge; Varric deals with Bartrand's temper; Eideann and the Grey Wardens uncover a confusing mystery in the Wending Wood; Eideann confronts the elf mage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence, gore
> 
> Comments always welcome

Her footsteps were soft as she climbed the path towards the mountain trail. So far her hunters had been kept from the peak by the weaknesses in the Veil allowing spirits to possess the dead, so she knew that she would be alone. Sundermount felt wrong, like all the weight of the world lay there in pieces, shattered and broken and torn apart. She was cautious as she made her way up the hill, focusing on her footfalls, on the path ahead, on the Veil, and the shard in her pocket.

It was good, after so long, to feel the earth beneath her feet again. She was not made for the sea. That much was true. Mythal had never chosen her. She wore the Vallaslin of Dirthamen, done in the style of the Alerion Clan. Hers was the realm of the forbidden and the lost. _Perfect_ , she thought, _for a Keeper._

When first they had arrived on the shores of Kirkwall and made their way along the coast away from the jet stone mines and the marble towers and the sheer cliffs, Keeper Marethari had brought her this way to see the shrine firsthand. She knew what to expect ahead: a cavern that blew with a cold, dry wind; the ancient elvhen burial mounds; the feeling of death pressing against the Veil where the Elvhen had died making their last stand. She felt a chill and pushed it aside, bringing the magic of the earth into her hands and holding it there just in case.

Something stirred, and she slipped her stance down, pausing, waiting, watching the scree that lined the paths, and then something clawed its way up. 

She released the spell, letting it hammer down, squashing the offending creature before it could haul itself through the earth, and then she slipped past it, further up the mountain, eyes on the path ahead. There were worse things than just the bones of the dead here. Pride and Despair hung heavy here and seeped into the corpses of ancient warriors and mages, both Tevinter and Elvhen alike. Care was necessary. All spirits were dangerous.

And she was there to speak to a spirit.

She had no further trouble as she climbed the rest of the path, however. Whatever restless spirits roamed the thin barriers that separated them from the real world were calm enough for her now. 

She considered the graveyard as she passed through, murmuring a soft Dalish rite into the air to placate any spirits that may yet linger, and determined on the way down she would set up a barrier. That would at least give the clan camped below some protection from the more dangerous spirits. It was, after all, what she had told Marethari she was going to do. She had best at least make good on her excuse. 

A small altar stood across the square. Usually she would stop, offer a quiet word, light a small flame in honor of Mythal, but today she climbed. She could not honor the Creators when she went to deal with spirits. 

The cavern was as she remembered it. She stepped gingerly across the floor, feeling the sharp points cutting at her heels and the soles of her feet as she crossed through the darkness. The earth was a gritty sand, the kind made not of the sands of the Waking Sea but the bones of the dead. She tried not to think on it as she stepped across the chamber and down the steps into the heart of Sundermount. Here, the elvhen had fallen. Here they had met their end. And all that remained was Audacity, which purred and stirred at her approach. She listened, pausing in the center of the chamber, and then carefully lowered herself to the floor, crossing her legs and setting her staff aside. 

She closed her eyes.

And suddenly she was there, could feel it, and the spirit considered her. It was not a vision, more an impression, but she got the feeling it was laughing at her.

 _You return, da’len._

“Yes,” she said in a soft voice, hearing her murmur catch and reverberate about the circular chamber. “I have come to learn.”

 _Like so many before you. What will you give me, if I should assist you?_ Merrill ignored the deal and instead pressed on.

“I seek the old ways, the ancient truths, the ability to purify and mend the Eluvian,” she explained. “I have tried every way I know, but still I cannot mend it.”

 _You need power, da’len._ She sighed, holding steady a moment.

“I only have my own.”

 _There is more power in you than you believe. But you knew this already, or else you would not have come. So I ask again. What will you give me, if I should assist you?_

Merrill paused, considering. And then she schooled her mind to calm and smiled ever so slightly.

“What do you want?” 

_Help me. Free me. I am trapped._

“And what if I cannot?” Merrill asked, keeping her voice level. She could feel her nerves on edge, something similar to all of her hair rising in a lightning storm. She bit at her tongue to bring herself back.

 _Try._ Merrill thought a moment, then drew a final deep breath, opening her eyes.

“Alright,” she said quietly, “I will try.” She heard something then, like laughter, felt it rumble through her soul, and bit her tongue again, this time harder, too hard. “Elgar’nan!” she spat in a low voice as she tasted the metallic flavor of blood in her mouth. And Audacity responded.

_There it is, the power you need. If you are ready to learn, I shall show you what I know._

***

He could feel the sweat trickling down the back of his neck and sighed, crossing his arms before the roaring fires. There was no need for such nonsense. It did not matter how far up your arse you were, at least on the surface there was air. In the pits where the Merchant Guild deshyrs met, the air was stifling and poor. Even the Coterie had better air. And it was not nearly so hot. But real dwarves had to play instead, so stone walls and firepits for everyone, apparently. 

Bartrand was stalking about the room, but that was nothing to get excited about. He had been stalking all day, to and fro, a look on his face like he had taken a bite of one of the Hanged Man’s mystery-meat dishes and found it wanting. Or maybe that was just his face. Bartrand had always liked a good pout. It was an offshoot office he kept off the Merchant Guild halls, and only small, which made the heat worse. Frankly, he was lucky to have it at all. If they were not kalnas, exiled nobility, they would be lucky to have even a chair. 

Bartrand had been in the business of squandering that influence for as long as he had been holding the seat as the Head of House Tethras. Their father had been caught rigging Provings, and gotten the whole lot of them exiled. Varric had been too young to remember Orzammar, but Bartrand could, and he was bitter. He spent every last coin they had trying to get those memories back again. Which brought them to this mess.

“It’s the wake of a Blight! Why are there no good people to sign on?! They’re all Blighted refugees!” he spat, and Varric sighed, crossing his arms.

“Probably your charming personality,” he said simply. “There are plenty of folks with experience fighting darkspawn. If we don’t go soon, the Deep Roads will fill up again and it won’t matter if you find an entire Thaig made of lyrium. Just choose some of them and pay the fee.” 

“We can’t afford it,” Bartrand snapped, glaring at the papers that lay scattered on his desk.

“Then we find someone who can,” Varric replied simply. Bartrand made a hissing noise through his teeth and slammed his hands down on the papers.

“I never should have bought into that damn Amgarrak expedition!” he declared roughly. “If that damn Shaper Olmech and House Dace hadn’t been so damn sure they would find it – !”

“Bartrand, Bartrand…we just need to think bigger. Leave this to me. I’ll find us the coin. You finish hiring us some soldiers.” Bartrand gave him a foul glare, then threw his hands up in the air.

“Bah, do as you like!” he spat, and turned his back. “I have to go and handle Dusana Helmi.” He stalked towards the door – ah, he was so good at stalking – and then froze, glaring back at Varric. “And stay away from House Davri’s rooms while you’re here. I’m not going to pay off assassins again, Varric.” Varric gave a small smirk, then a bow of head, and Bartrand turned to storm out, all the usual disgruntled anger. Varric sighed and glanced to the papers on the desk. 

The Amgarrak funding had been a mistake, but their other investments topside seemed to be paying off. If Bartrand could get his head out of the Deep Roads long enough, he could own half of Hightown by now. Varric brushed the dust from his coat and then shifted Bianca on his back, toying with the idea of crossing the hall in search of the Davri rooms. But he decided against it and turned instead for the steps that led to the surface. 

He needed to find someone with the wherewithal to help fund this damn expedition. If they could find anything down in the depths, they would strike it rich topside and down in Orzammar. The connections that could yield would be phenomenal, and they could even afford to barter with the Coterie. The potential was enormous. He only needed someone who had the ability to get a job done, to take a risk, and throw the coin into the pot. He had a good ear for this, and the information was not paltry. All it took was money.

Well, if there was one thing he was good at, aside from telling tall tales, it was money. At his heart, he was a businessman, for all that Bartrand ran the affairs of the House. Varric knew how to get the information he needed, and where to find people with potential. He emerged into the sunlight onto the steps that led to Hightown, and smiled against the shining, dirty marble a moment before turning instead towards Lowtown and the part of town with character. If he wanted someone with any amount of skill and determination, there was only one place to find them: the Hanged Man, where everyone knows your name.

***

Eideann toyed with the ring about her finger, iron and silverite, and then sighed, glancing deep into the woods. For some time now, the place had been silent. The way to the watchtower atop the hill was round a twisting trail, so she had skirted that carefully, certain that the elven mage was atop it. Where better to establish a camp than there? 

She was not quite ready to face that woman yet, and she was certain no further caravans were in danger, since they had yet to meet anyone alive outside of the now-absent bandits. Her main concern was the darkspawn, the beasts she still could not sense. 

The elf had said they had tried to drive her out. Darkspawn did not try to drive anyone out. They simply rampaged through. Eideann really had no idea if the woman had meant the darkspawn fleeing the Battle of Denerim in the wake of Urthemiel’s fall, or if she meant more recently, but something in her hinted at the second. After all, those fleeing Denerim had been chased down by Fereldan King’s Army, led in part by Oghren and her brother Fergus and others. They would not have had time to make a claim to the Wending Wood. There would have been more tales as well, enough to reach Denerim itself perhaps. This was something more recent, she mused, something which disturbed her more. 

She knew that something had given them drive and purpose. Darkspawn did not stay on the surface when they could hide in the darkness. An Archdemon had summoned them forth, certainly. But what held them now was anyone’s guess. Something that did not compel them with the Blightsong. That may be much worse. 

By silent, she meant completely silent. There were no birds, and without the rain even the trees were still. All signs of life seemed absent. It made her think of dark things, dark thoughts. It made her think of the Deep Roads. 

She shuddered and pulled her cloak further about her against the autumnal chill, shaking her head. Soon it would be winter again, and Fereldan winters were frigid. She wanted this mess dealt with before she found herself dancing on ice to see it done. 

“Nathaniel, any idea where this granite mine might be?” she asked quietly. He gave her a sharp look.

“Don’t you think we should handle other things first?” he asked simply. She sighed, shaking her head.

“I’d rather know now, so if we cannot secure the entire forest, at least we can secure the parts we need,” she replied quietly. “This elven mage seems determined to see the end of people, and if she could hold off darkspawn I’m inclined to believe her capable of upholding any and all threats she makes. Not to mention she’s summoning demons into trees.” She lowered her head a little, listening, and then glanced to him. “And this silence makes me nervous.” 

“Still no darkspawn?” he asked her quietly. Oghren shifted with a grim stare, battleaxe in hands just in case.

“No,” he replied, and Eideann glanced back, wondering if he could sense them. He just met her eyes. “Can’t smell ‘em,” he explained and she sighed.

“Well, we came with three objectives: clear the caravan paths to open up trade, find granite and silverite, and follow up on darkspawn concerns. I can’t do the last one at the moment, and the first will take some doing. So the second it is,” Eideann said simply. Anders, leaning on his staff, looked wary.

“Don’t you think she’ll just get more desperate the longer we’re about?” he asked carefully. Eideann smiled slightly.

“Certainly. But we’re not here for her comfort, are we?” She grimaced. “I want this settled as diplomatically as possible. I am not about to turn a Dalish mage over to the Chantry. But I need some time to think about the best way to approach this. And I need to know more about what happened here before we should.” She glanced back to Nathaniel who pointed.

“I think the granite was this way, past some old Alamarri stone circles,” he finally said, deciding to be agreeable again. She was glad that he was slowly deciding that it was best to work together. After all, if she was forced to watch both her front and her back, she was never going to get a moment’s rest. 

They took a path through the firs then, moving carefully, Eideann and Nathaniel in the front tracking for any sign of darkspawn or even wildlife in general. Their horses were led behind, tied together and led by Anders who apparently had some sort of way with animals. It was not just his cat back at the tower it appeared. 

Eideann had considered that fact long and hard after hearing of it, and realized there was power in that knowledge. She knew she needed a mage in the Wardens. Maker, she would have them all mages if she could. There was something strange with the singing of the Blight and the connections to the Fade, and it would take someone with arcane knowledge to puzzle it out. But Anders was hesitant at being trapped, and she did not want to trap him. She wanted the Wardens to be a refuge for him, a home he could go from and return to.

They found the granite not far from an old Alamarri construction of standing stones. Eideann considered the stones, and Anders murmured something about feeling a strong spirit presence. That was when she decided it was best to leave it alone. She considered the granite quarry, freshly dug, a low and shallow pit that seemed like it could go far deeper, and then glanced back towards the watchtower before shaking her head.

“There’s something not right about all of this,” she said, sinking back against a block of cut granite that had never been moved and crossing her arms to think. She closed her eyes a moment, drawing a slow meditative breath, and then began to talk it out aloud. She had never allowed herself that luxury during the Blight, with all eyes on her, but here in the Wending Wood with such a mystery she had a spirit mage, an Amaranthine native, and a darkspawn expert to help her. “We can assume the Dalish here were the remnants of Keeper Ilshae’s clan, led by her First, since her First was absent during the Blight. Since the Dalish Keepers are mages, her apprentice would also be a mage, meaning it is a fair bet that the elf woman we met was Keeper Ilshae’s First, and the leader of the band that chose to stay. She was not alone, but now she appears to be, and the others have all been killed as she said, though her sister was taken. Why? And by who? The merchant caravans are not getting through, and people would have spoken in Amaranthine of a Dalish elf if one had been taken before the attacks. So something or someone else took her sister. For what purpose?” She opened her eyes. “Not only that but the darkspawn are about, even if we cannot sense them, and they have been trying to drive her away. Darkspawn do not drive people away, they just…inhabit places. Either there’s a nest nearby, in which case we should be able to smell it, Maker help us, or there is something intelligent behind these darkspawn. I am not sure which frightens me more.” She glanced to Oghren. “If we cannot sense them, they have found a way to inhibit the Song. And if they can do that, they could be up to anything. Everything we know of darkspawn suggests that they do nothing but seek the Song. Darkspawn without the Song…” Oghren glowered.

“Sod it, Commander, I don’t know! Just aim and hit!” 

“Perhaps,” Eideann said very slowly, considering, “that is what they did.” She glanced up at them all then, sighing. “Let us assume for a moment that these darkspawn are intelligent. They can speak, and that means they can think. And that means they can set up traps. If they are not driven by the Song, we must fall back on the only other thing all creatures share: a need for self-preservation.” She pursed her lips. “Somewhere safe then? Perhaps they _are_ trying to drive her away, to drive everyone away. If they can think, they can plan, and they can take advantage of circumstances.” Her brows knitted. “How?” 

“There are old ruins in the Wending Wood,” Nathaniel said quietly, “places long abandoned. And caverns. Maybe…maybe they’re making this place home.” Eideann gritted her teeth.

“I hate that idea,” she told him frankly. “And that means it may even be true.” She pushed off from the granite. “Do you think you might be able to find these ruins?” 

“Yes,” he said. “I used to hunt these woods with my father.” Eideann nodded, then put out an arm. 

“Then by all means, lead on,” she suggested. He sighed, then reached for the lead horse’s reins and nudged him forward.

He had not lied. There were indeed various signs of ancient ruins littered among the trees. Some of them were Tevinter arches, but many were of Avvar make. Here and there were offerings, left alongside the Pilgrim’s Path by the faithful paying homage to Andraste. But before that, this had been the wood of an Avvar god, and the remnants of those worships – broken pillars and statues – were there beneath the Andrastian prayers. 

It was Oghren who suddenly stopped them, calling a gruff “Oy!” to them and then narrowing his eyes, glancing about. Eideann turned back immediately, because when Oghren was concerned so was she. He gave her a wary look.

“What is it?” she asked. He gave a sniff.

“Darkspawn. A whiff. That’s all,” he replied curtly. “But they were here. I know it.” Eideann nodded, then looked about cautiously before drawing a deep breath. 

“Then we go slowly.” 

They carried on in silence then, Oghren and Eideann taking the lead now, Nathaniel drawing an arrow just in case. Oghren was leading now, like he were some sort of hound tracking. He kept a fairly steady course, and before long even Eideann could catch the scent of them on the breeze. They had been that way, and recently. 

Nathaniel made a soft noise, motioning to the ground, and Eideann saw the tracks then too. These were not darkspawn, but humans. Bandits perhaps? Maybe mercenaries guarding the caravans? There were no ruts from wheels, so it could not be the caravans themselves. But someone had been this way. A lot of someones. 

Eideann reached to draw her sword. 

There was a sharp howl, and she wheeled about, catching sight of the creatures that came tearing towards them. Blight wolves. Definitely the right track.

She stepped forward as Oghren charged, meeting the first two with a flurry of blades that brought the beasts down and whining. Oghren finished the third off with a roar, and Nathaniel’s arrows cut through the last. Anders, now in charge of the horses again, stared, holding fast to the reins so their mounts would not flee. 

“They’ve got spines,” he exclaimed, unable to tear his eyes from the beasts. Eideann wiped her blades on the fur of the nearest one and nodded.

“The Blight can taint any living thing, including plants and trees. Be wary.” She rose again and paused, considering ahead, where the trees seemed to open up into a small copse. At the tree line, there were signs of a scuffle, not of Blight Wolves, and then the ground seemed to drop off. She stepped over the creatures and took long strides towards it, letting her determination carry her. 

What was revealed was enough to make her sick. She peered down over the mass grave of twisted and battered bodies, littered amongst darkspawn totems. 

“Poor sods,” Oghren muttered coming alongside them. Nathaniel shook his head.

“These bodies were brought here,” he said firmly. “You can see the drag marks – here, and here.” He looked up at her. “Someone was trying to…hide them?” Eideann grimaced. Clearly there was darkspawn involvement, but the darkspawn did not hide bodies. They left them to rot or took the living as ghoul slaves. Anders shook his head.

“If I have to go into the bushes to answer nature’s call, you’re all coming with me,” he muttered, looking away. Eideann crossed to where Nathaniel was examining the drag marks. 

“We follow it,” she said simply. “It will either lead us to the darkspawn, or to the battlefield where we may learn more.” 

“Why hide the bodies? Do they even do that?” 

“No, but remember, we’re assuming they think now,” Eideann told him, meeting Nathaniel’s wary gaze. “Why would you hide bodies after a fight – and from the number here in the same armor, there was a very big fight?” He narrowed his gaze.

“Because I wouldn’t want them found? I wouldn’t want someone to know they were dead?” he said simply.

“Why might that be?” He gave her a concerned look. She sighed. “The elf believes merchants attacked the Dalish and killed most of her colleagues before kidnapping her sister. We suspect this is not the case, and here we find the liveried guardsmen of the Merchant’s Guild caravans, hidden away.” 

“Are you saying,” Oghren grumbled, “the Blighters wanted the elf to think the merchants were responsible? They’re darkspawn, Commander, not tacticians.” 

“I don’t know,” Eideann admitted, “but I have to assume that whatever it is driving them now has these sorts of capabilities. They speak, they think, they act with purpose. An Archdemon would be preferable to this, I know.” She followed the drag-marks back into the forest, glancing back to make sure Anders had the horses. “We need to get to the bottom of this quickly, or it will only get worse. And if the darkspawn are responsible, proof of that may help us handle the elven mage.” 

The drag marks led back through the wood, around the lee of the watchtower hill. Eideann led the way this time, listening for signs of more darkspawn, but there was nothing for the moment. And then, suddenly she heard it, a snatch of the Song, almost surreal. She froze.

“Did you hear that?” she asked, but of course they had not. They were too new to sensing the creatures. It had taken months for her own to develop. But she _had_ heard it. She knew that much. She gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on her blades. “Be careful. There’s something Blighted ahead.” 

It turned out that what she had heard was not a darkspawn, however, but a ghoul, or near enough to it. It was a man, clad in the armor of the Merchant’s Guild militia. And he was still alive, though bloodied and twisted by the taint, and curled under a filthy awning, all that remained of another decimated caravan. 

At her approach he looked up. He, at least, could sense her. He turned his face away, giving a cry.

“Don’t look!” he said with effort, and Eideann heard a soft curse from Anders. She paused a few paces from him, considering him with quiet eyes. She had seen as much and worse before, but this was the first time Anders or Nathaniel would have had cause to witness such a thing. Oghren was beside her, cold and resolute, and she was grateful at least he was there. “Don’t look at me!” the man said again. Eideann just shook her head.

“What’s your name, man?” she asked quietly. He peered at her with eyes thick with the taint, silver-lined and flat, and his blackened lips snarled a little.

“Olaf, my name,” he mumbled. “Came with the militia to drive out the lady elf, but…but the darkspawn were too quick.” He put up a hand, like he was going to reach for her, then grimaced instead and let it fall. “We were ripped apart. Biting claws and teeth from the darkness! And I woke, flesh and bone and gristle under me, around me.” Eideann steadied herself against the realization he had dragged himself there from the pit himself. The marks they had followed were his. “Everyone dead. Dead soft meat, melting into the ground. I crawled away, came here. Can’t stand,” he breathed in horror, eyes wide and coated with the film of filth. He did not have long left. How long he had had survived already, even she could not say, and she needed information.

Eideann took a step forward and crouched down before the man. The Blight sang at her, and if it did not concern her to think on it, she may have even felt relief at its return. At least there was nothing wrong with her senses. It was the darkspawn themselves that were the problem there.

“Do you know anything about the elf’s sister?” she asked him carefully. He stared back.

“Sister?” he asked blankly, then shook his head, breaking eye contact. “I…have a sister. Do I? Elf sister? No. We did _not_ take her. Probably dead! Or eaten…” Eideann remembered Ruck in the Deep Roads, living on the carcasses of corrupted darkspawn, and felt a shadow settle over her. 

_Once you takes in the darkness, you not miss the light so much. Grey like the stone. Guardian against the darkness. Beautiful like waterfalls under the lichen._

“Then did you kill the elves?” she asked. He gave a low chortle, gurgling with black bile and the taint as he laughed. 

“No. No, darkspawn came first. They slaughtered us. Took our steel. Brought it to the elven camp. Tricked us! Tricked the elf! Now, she thinks we are to blame, hunts _all_ in her rage, while they watch.” Eideann pursed her lips. Behind her Anders shifted.

“So all these people died over a…misunderstanding?” he asked incredulous. Eideann shook her head.

“Not a misunderstanding. A plan.” 

“We have to stop her,” Anders said, staring at Eideann, “tell her she’s wrong! We might be able to find her again.” 

“I know exactly where she’ll be,” Eideann said quietly. “But words won’t reach her without proof.” The tainted man gave a small grin, and Eideann glanced back to him.

“The Dark Ones are curious about you too,” he said with a smile, the rasping gone. He was starting to turn now, losing himself. “They watch _you_ as well as her.” And Eideann felt it then, the stirring of the taint back in the woods. She glanced back, over her shoulder, and could not immediately see them, but there was something there at least. And that made her determined. The ghoul grinned a sickly grin. “Can you feel them?” he asked. Eideann glanced back, meeting his eyes.

 _Grey like the stone. Beautiful like waterfalls under the lichen. Can you feel them?_

“Where did they come from?” she asked him flatly. He just shook his head.

“Beneath,” he replied. “Around. From shadows.” Shrieks and genlocks. Eideann narrowed her eyes, then shook her head.

“This disease will kill you, you know. It will burn in your blood like fire. And if you survive that, it will take your very soul next, and you will spend the rest of your days serving the darkspawn.” He gave a sad little smile, tainted film over his eyes making him appear blind. And then he shook his head.

“Am already dead,” he told her simply. “Am already gone.” And then his smile faded, and the last glimpses of his humanity were there in his frightened eyes. “Make…make an end? Please…” 

Eideann reached for Duncan’s dagger at her belt, drawing it slowly, and nodded.

“Maker have mercy on you,” she said, and then leaned forward, smelling the taint on him he was so close, and slit his throat. His blood splattered across her, and she wiped it away on her sleeve before sitting back and watching the last of the light go from his eyes. And then she rose, sheathing the knife and drawing forth her blades instead.

“Come then,” she called quietly into the woods, and they did, a few hurlocks, two genlocks, an emissary, fading out of the woods in silence to greet them. 

Eideann went straight for the Hurlock Alpha that led them, calling for Oghren to bring down the emissary, and the pair of them charged. Anders released the horses, which stampeded from the clearing in a panic, and Nathaniel was already stringing another arrow to bring down more of the beasts.

It was over quickly. She was far too practiced for a simple band like this to pose a challenge. When it was done, she gave a sharp whistle, like the one she always used with Angus, and heard her horse come slowly, warily back. The others carefully filtered through the trees too, eyes rolling in fear. And Eideann went to quiet them as Nathaniel drew alongside her. 

When that was done, Eideann sighed, glancing to the darkspawn, her look severe. Something caught her eye, bright and shining where darkspawn gear was corroded and dull. She crossed to them, Nathaniel tailing her with concern on his face.

“As you thought,” Nathaniel said quietly, “they were thinking, laying a trap. If they took the weapons and planted them…what is going on?” Eideann bent over the Hurlock Alpha and yanked the sparkling pendant from about the creature’s neck, holding it up to examine it. 

She felt a flicker of…something…that hazy recollection from memories that were not hers. The design was something elven. She carefully pocketed it, narrowing her gaze. 

_The merchants kidnapped my sister!_ Or perhaps the darkspawn had. Could this be part of the plot as well? There was only one way to know. She glanced towards the watchtower atop the hill over the Wending Wood, feeling the darkness creep over her. 

“It’s time we spoke to this elf,” she said, and work out what is really going on here.

She led her mounts towards the hill, climbing the winding trail that spiraled up towards the top. It was certainly defensible. She could not even see the top. But she had the feeling they were being watched, and she knew it could only be the elf woman. The darkspawn would not be atop the hill. 

Her suspicions were proven correct when the creak of wood and the flash of magic erupted on the hillside above them, and the woman stepped from the tangled roots again, her face a mask of fury.

“Why are you still here?!” she demanded, throwing her hands in the air in a rage. “I told you to stay away from me! I warned you this place is not for you!” she called fiercely. Eideann glared up at her. 

“The humans did not kidnap your sister!” she called. The elf simply shook her head bitterly, fury laced in her features.

“I know a human crime when I see it!” she snapped. “I’ve experienced more than enough of them! You will pay for repeating their lies!” There was a sharp snap, like something being torn, and Anders gave a sharp cry from behind them.

“She’s summoning a spirit!” he warned. And then two of the trees that lined the path moved. They stretched out their limbs, raw power aching after an eternity of wood, and roared, earthly rage bound to the forest itself. Eideann gritted her teeth and turned, and the first of her blades met the wood with a sharp thwack, hacking deep. When she yanked them free, thick sap oozed up to fill the wound in the wood. And the tree swept at her.

“Anders, I don’t suppose you know any fire spells?” she called.

“No!” he replied, but something else hit then instead, a blast of cold like a column of winter that turned the branches brittle and slowed the creatures down. Oghren went for one, and Eideann took the other, and with Ander’s cold spells assisting, they managed to fell the beasts. Anders banished the spirits then, a look of his face that spoke of his anger, and Eideann glanced up in time to see the elf woman running for the top of the tower up the last of the path.

“After her,” she said firmly, and hurried in pursuit.

The elf did not try to stop them as they reached the hilltop. The rest of the path was clear. Eideann took the last of the steps with a final burst of energy, and her Forder followed her up, and then she froze, considering what lay ahead.

It was the remnants of a Dalish camp. She recognized the aravels. But there were no halla there – Keeper Ilshae had kept them for the clan. There were no other elves either. As she picked a path through the smattering of human weapons scattered across the hilltop, she caught sight of the elf woman, Keeper Ilshae’s First, standing with her head bowed in the center of it all.

On the hilltop overlooking the woods below were cairns of carefully placed stones. Eideann paused, considering, and the elven woman glanced up at her, eyes cold and full of hate, but defeated.

“You,” she said in a bitter voice. “You will _never_ take me alive.” Eideann looked to the aravels, then back to the elf, and shook her head.

“I am not going to kill you,” she said quietly, her voice low and serious. The elf gave her a mirthless smile.

“I will not go with you to some…shemlen magistrate. I won’t bow to their rules,” she said angrily. Eideann took a step forward, silent on the hilltop.

“Why don’t we talk first, and then we shall decide the appropriate next steps?” she said simply. The elf crossed her arms with a laugh.

“Talk?” she said, like it were a dirty word. 

“The darkspawn have been up to something,” Eideann said quietly. “I came here as Warden-Commander to find out what. And what I have learned is…troubling. They are the ones responsible for the murder of your clan, and they are the ones who took your sister.” A look of concern crossed the elf’s face and she took a step backwards, shaking her head.

“What?” she hissed. “The darkspawn are mindless! It is not possible!” Eideann raised her chin.

“The weapons here were planted by the darkspawn. The humans they once belonged to are long dead in a ditch down the hill,” she said curtly. The elf calmed a little, glancing back towards the littering of weapons across the camp.

“I wondered why anyone would discard the weapons after using them,” she said quietly, “but you claim the _darkspawn_ planted them?” She narrowed her eyes, shaking her head as she battled to come to terms with what that might mean. “That _would_ mean the darkspawn killed my people. _And_ took my sister.” Eideann reached into her pocket and pulled forth the pendant she had found. It caught the sun and flickered and the elf woman looked up.

“This was on one of the darkspawn,” she said, holding it out. The elf crossed the space between them, snatching it from her hands, and then her eyes widened and she looked up. The rage was gone now. Only fear was left. 

“This is Seranni’s,” she breathed, clutching it close against her chest. She looked away, towards the graves, then back, shaking her head. “She would never willingly part with it. Our mother gave it to her before she died! Why would the darkspawn do this?!” Eideann drew a slow breath, glancing back to Anders and Oghren and Nathaniel who were waiting warily just at the edge of the hilltop with the horses. And then she looked back to the elf.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly, “but I am going to find out.” She needed to know the answers for herself, even if this elf did not want to know them. She needed to get to the bottom of all of this. The elf woman glanced to her then, eyes burning with a cold fire.

“You have no reason to trust me, but let me come with you,” she said fiercely. Eideann raised an eyebrow, and the elf woman took a step forward, still clutching her sister’s pendant to her chest with both hands. “Please…” Eideann considered her a moment, then glanced to the cairns on the hill and the empty aravel camp. And she thought of Keeper Ilshae, of the woman with the kind, quiet eyes and the same Dalish markings as this elf before her bore.

“Vir Atish’an,” Eideann murmured softly. The Way of Peace. Something flickered in the woman’s eyes, a darkness, a sorrow, and an anger. But she held her tongue, and Eideann took that as a sign. “Fine. But I am watching you. And this matter has yet to be resolved.” The woman gave a quiet nod, and then Eideann drew a breath. “Anders,” she called softly, and he took a wary step forward as she turned towards him. “Will you stay here and hold the camp? It should be safe enough now.” Anders looked surprised, and then gave a nod, glancing to the horses that were quietly waiting on the hill.

“Don’t be gone too long,” he said a little warily. The elf considered the others, then glanced back to Eideann.

“My name,” she said simply, “is Velanna, if you…care for such things.” Eideann’s gaze slipped to her, cool and rainy and Cousland blue. 

“Queen Eideann Cousland-Theirin, Warden-Commander of Ferelden,” she replied quietly. Velanna grimaced, then looked to the others. Eideann motioned to them one by one. “Nathaniel, Oghren, and Anders.” Velanna nodded, looking uncomfortable, and then looked back to Eideann.

“Do you know where the darkspawn might dwell?” she asked. Eideann sighed.

“Tunnels, most likely. That is their usual haunt. We had considered some of the ruins as well.” Velanna turned away, pacing, cupping her chin with one hand as she thought. Then she bit at her lower lip.

“There is an abandoned mine to the north of here,” she said after a moment of thought. “The tunnels run far into the earth.”

“The Silverite Mine,” Nathaniel said behind her, and Eideann sighed.

“Well, it’s as good a start as any,” she said and then considered the remains of the Dalish camp. “But before we go to face those darkspawn, we need to at least make camp. It will be dark soon, and the last thing we need is to come upon them in the night.” Velanna looked very wary, but Eideann solved the problem for her by glancing back to her men. “Pitch some shelter for our use,” she ordered. “We’ll eat our own supplies.” The elf watched her warily a moment, and then Eideann turned away.

“Aren’t you worried?” the elf called, and she glanced back to see the woman watching her.

“Of?” Eideann prompted quietly, voice low and dangerous.

“I’ll run away, or try to kill you, or…the darkspawn?” Eideann narrowed her gaze, meeting Velanna’s green with her Cousland blue. 

“If you run, then you run. If you try to kill me, you shall die. And as for the darkspawn, I can handle them. It is you who should be more concerned. They are not a poison to me.” Velanna looked wary, then gave a soft sniff and stalked off towards the aravels. Eideann watched her go a moment, then turned back to her Grey Wardens and crossed for her horse. “Nathaniel, dig out the salted ham and any of those leftover apples,” she said quietly, and he proceeded to do so without question.

“Great,” Oghren muttered. “Another twitchy magic sort. Just what we need.” Anders grinned and nudged the dwarf with his shoulder before throwing down his bedroll.

“Watch out for the schleets, Oghren,” he replied. “I hear they like hills.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES ON MERRILL:  
> According to the lore, Merrill went once to Sundermount with Marethari and once again alone, so this scene is that second time. The first encounter is actually available for your pleasure on the wiki [here](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Merrill_%28short_story%29) if you are interested. I am not going to rewrite things that have already been written. :)
> 
> In regards to her vallaslin, it is in fact unique, but I compared it as best as I could to the version we find in Inquisition, and it does align fairly well to the Dirthamen style, so I went with that. It felt fitting, given her story arc and the fact she's trying to unlock the secrets of lost lore. 
> 
> NOTES ON THE DWARVEN MERCHANT'S GUILD AND HOUSE TETHRAS:  
> The Dwarven Merchant's Guild actually has outposts in most major cities, but has a particular presence in Kirkwall and Ostheim. Since there was no specific mention as to where the Merchant Guild meets, I figured it made sense for it to be somewhere below-ground. Caste remains important to many surface dwarves (particularly those exiled from higher castes originally) and this plays through into the primary powerful families of the Dwarven Merchant's Guild. The three top families are House Tethras (Varric and Bartrand), House Davri (Bianca), and House Vasca (Bianca's husband's family). The timeline appears a little vague in regards to Varric and Bianca's relationship, so since this is early Kirkwall, I've just made the assumption Bianca is still there (though not for long) and probably by this point married. 
> 
> The Dwarven Merchant's Guild has a complicated relationship with the Coterie, which is primarily the non-dwarf smugglers, mostly due to the conflict of business interests (they are competitors after all). Varric mentions having to placate and work with the Coterie a lot, so this is backed up in the lore. Varric himself is not actually a Coterie member, and since he is not the head of his house at the moment, he also is not the representative. 
> 
> In regards to the Amgarrak expedition (led by Dorian Olmech of the Shaperate and at the behest of House Dace), House Tethras definitely helped fund the rescue mission later. Given the timeline here, I can see Bartrand putting some money forward for the original expedition itself, since the option was to rediscover golems and Bartrand is always trying to get that connection to the Deep Roads back. While it's never explicitly stated in the lore that House Tethras helped fund the original expedition, I think it's a fair assumption that there was some money involved, especially since by the beginning of DAII, Bartrand is struggling to put the funds together to do his Deep Road Expedition at all. I imagine the money they did have has been put into other exploratory ventures. :)
> 
> THE BLIGHT AND THE DARKSPAWN:  
> Some of the darkspawn are clearly the type that the Wardens cannot sense (those at Vigil's Keep) but others can be sensed, presumably because they have not been Awakened. This distinction is a difficult one to make, and I'm not entirely clear on it myself. Those that serve the Mother and the Architect directly are definitely the Awakened sort, but there is some suggestion that some of these darkspawn are still not Awakened and just following the crowd, hence why Eideann finally senses some of the lower sort.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Nathaniel have a heart-to-heart; Eideann leads her company into the Silverite Mines; Eideann and her group are captured by darkspawn; the Grey Wardens and Velanna try to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: violence, self-hate/despair
> 
> Comments always welcome. Sorry for the brief delay in posting. I wanted this chapter to be its best. ;) ~HR

There was a cold wind that night. Anders sat, hunched in his Warden cloak, staring out over the Wending Wood from his position near their small campfire. The Dalish woman was gone, for better or worse, into one of the tents and had not emerged. Even so, there was no chance of him falling asleep on watch this time. No… _this_ time he was going to stay awake. He didn’t trust her enough to let people sleep soundly without a watch. And neither, apparently did Queen Eideann.

Maker, that was still an odd thing to think. The woman had literally _made_ herself the Queen after all, on top of all that darkspawn fighting nonsense. He sighed, gathering his cloak closer against the breeze and feeling it ruffling his hair.

There was the sound of footsteps on the ruined flagstones beside him and he glanced up to see Nathaniel Howe. He watched as the man leaned against the ruined watchtower wall and then blinked as he settled into his own watch.

“Don’t trust me?” he asked, and the man’s cool grey gaze slipped to him without a word. “I promise not to sleep again.” 

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Nathaniel said in a voice that was a little like a low hum. “I thought you may want some company.” Anders sighed, looking away, hunching his shoulders a bit more and then poking at the flames of their campfire with a stick left nearby. 

“Well, I suppose if you can’t sleep we could try to keep everyone else awake. The Commander might be easy to wake up. The dwarf though…” Nathaniel shook his head. 

“You never answered my question,” he said after a moment. Anders raised an eyebrow in question. “About how the Templars always find you.” 

_Ah. That._

“I did,” he said simply. “You just didn’t like the answer.”

“Angry and blood magic. That’s not an answer.” 

“And yet both are true.” Anders settled back against the wall, gathering the fur lining of his cloak about his ears for warmth, and closed his eyes. “Oh, they wouldn’t like to admit it, but the Chantry’s been practicing blood magic since Andraste.” He opened one eye to see if Nathaniel was listening. The man was staring into the distance, arms still crossed, but he was still.

“We would have heard of it.”

“You have,” Anders informed him simply. “Every Circle Mage has a phylactery, which Templars use to track those that escape. How do you think that works? A cut to the arm, a trickle of blood, some lyrium, and a spell and they can find you forever.” Nathaniel’s eyes were narrow when he looked back, and unsettling. Anders avoided his gaze by staring back into the flames.

“And yet you’re still here.” 

“While I’m with the Wardens, the Templars cannot touch me,” he said quietly, reflecting on that a moment. If he left the Wardens… He still did not entirely believe that the Templars would not watch him while he was in the Wardens either. Nathaniel must have caught his shift in mood, because he set his back to the wall and slid down until he was sat beside him.

“None of us will hand you over to them, you know.” Anders glanced to him then smirked.

“Aww, I didn’t know you cared. You’re sweet,” he teased, and Nathaniel shot him a dark look. Anders sighed.

“Do you always wear robes?” Nathaniel asked him, brows knitted. Anders barked a laugh.

“Not when I’m naked I don’t,” he said simply. Nathaniel gave him a glare.

“I mean when you run from the Circle. Robes would make you easy to spot.” Anders snorted, shaking his head. Could this man really be so simple?

“So does the ‘I’m a mage!’ sign around my neck. I like to make it easy for the Templars,” he said flatly, giving Nathaniel a flat look. The nobleman just shifted, looking away.

“Ah,” he muttered, “so that’s how it’s going to be.” Anders shook his head.

“Ask me foolish questions and yes, that’s exactly how it will be.” But he darkened a little. “Look, all I want is a pretty girl, a warm bed, and the right to shoot lightning at fools.” Nathaniel grinned, shaking his head.

“Don’t we all,” he muttered. And then he sobered a little. “I…never thought my life would be like this.” 

“Going to sob and cry and whine, are you?” Anders asked, arching an eyebrow again. And then he pulled his knees up to his chest. “You know, Nathaniel, you’re just like me.” Nathaniel glanced to him with a flat look.

“Am I, now?” 

“Everyone hates your family for something terrible they did, even though you weren’t involved!” He poked at the fire again.

“I hope you have a point, Anders,” Nathaniel muttered, looking away. Anders considered him.

“It’s like you’re a mage! If there were more Howes, they’d lock all of you up in a tower to protect everyone else!” 

“A thrilling analogy.” Anders just smiled then sighed.

“You can stop hating her, you know,” he finally said. “The Commander.” Nathaniel hung his head a moment, letting his dark hair fall about his neck and face. And then he grimaced.

“I don’t hate her. I hate what she represents.” He shook his head. “I admire her. I hate _that_. I wish I could just hate her. That would be easier.” Anders gave a soft laugh.

“Maybe you should simply forgive yourself?” he suggested. Nathaniel gave him a steady look in return but said nothing. Instead he just leaned his head back and shook it softly.

“It is not that simple. And I am not a fan of over-simplifications.”

“Maybe it should be that simple.” 

“And maybe you should shut up and leave it alone,” Nathaniel said darkly. 

“As if you could make me,” Anders grinned and then looked up towards the cloudy sky above. At least there was no rain for once. He heard the sound of Oghren drunkenly rolling over in his sleep, and sighed. “So,” he said, switching topics. “What’s your opinion on cats?”

***

Eideann checked the straps of her gauntlets a moment before swiping her hair back from her face. It was in need of a wash, because it lay flat when she did so, and she grimaced and closed her eyes a moment before finally pushing the feeling away and turning to Anders.

“You know the plan then,” she said. “If there’s a Deep Roads entrance in the tunnels, we may be gone awhile, but if it’s more than three days, ride for Denerim and go straight to Alistair.” 

“Got it. Ride for Denerim, barge in on the King or his Council, declare myself an apostate Grey Warden, and tell him I’ve somehow been involved in the disappearance of his Queen,” Anders said with a smirk. Eideann shook her head, then sighed, glancing towards the remains of the Dalish camp. 

Velanna stood with her back to them, considering the cairns she had made. And then at last she turned away, fastening her sister’s pendant about her neck. Her eyes were sharp and cold.

“Ready?” Eideann asked simply, and earned a nod in reply. So she hauled her pack onto her back and set off down the hill, and Oghren and Nathaniel fell in step with her. After a moment she heard Velanna take up the rear. 

Nathaniel directed them to the Silverite Mine, which was located some distance northward. It took about half an hour on foot to reach the old structure, and it was clear from initial glance it had been around awhile, perhaps many decades.

“There used to be a mining village nearby,” Nathaniel explained, “but then they broke through into some old ruins in the mine, and the miners refused to go back after that.” Eideann listened to him quietly, taking in the information, and something stirred in her memories again, those ancient elven thoughts recognizing.

“The ruins were elven?” she said quietly, and Nathaniel blinked.

“Possibly?” 

“I think they were,” Eideann said quietly. 

“How do you know that?” Velanna demanded curtly. Eideann gave her a flat look.

“Call it a lucky guess,” she said simply, refusing to explain herself to someone she had not even determined a suitable punishment for yet. Velanna gave her a cold glare, and Eideann shook her head. “I don’t have answers for you. I just…know that elves once had a foothold in these woods, even before the Avvar, and it is not unreasonable to assume that the silverite mines broke through into the remains of those ancient settlements.” Somewhat placated, the elven First crossed her arms, which made her walk awkward but pulled off a sulky look all the same. Eideann just shook her head again and turned back to Nathaniel. “Anything else?”

“Aside from the fact that the equipment and platforms are probably rotten and the entire place may have collapsed?” he said simply. So she nodded and murmured a soft thank you, and he led them up the slope towards the entrances of the mine.

There were Tevinter arches lining the mine, and a Tevinter tower set atop it, showing how old it really was. Such an old mine had to be deep, and if there really were ruins further down within its depths, it would take them quite some time to search.

“Velanna,” Eideann said softly, “I don’t suppose you happen to know any fire spells.”

“Of course I know fire spells. What kind of mage doesn’t know fire spells?” the elf snapped, and Eideann gave a smile, thinking momentarily of Anders before nodded. 

“We’ll need them in there. I expect it will be very dark.” She reached inside her Grey Warden tunic under the breastplate and drew forth the lyrium hourglass pendant Zevran had given her in Orzammar. She carefully twisted it, watching it settle a moment, then tucked it away. “Alright. Three days it is,” she said. “Starting now.” And she carefully walked up to the mine, wary of the ground giving way, and peered into the depths.

There was a low wooden ramp of rotting wood that descended into the darkness beyond. She tested it with her foot first before carefully climbing onto it. And then she went step by step, wincing at every creak, and slowly lowering herself down into the tunnels.

Her mind went to Soldier’s Peak and the darkspawn attack that had led to the collapse of the tunnels there. And she thought as well of the Deep Roads that ran beneath the Vigil. There was no way in hell that King Bhelen’s forces would have reached this far under the Coastlands yet. If the mine did connect to the Deep Roads somewhere below the ancient ruins then it was likely far behind the Darkspawn line. She still did not know where they had surfaced to march on Denerim after all.

She glanced back to Oghren, and saw the light in his eyes gleaming that suggested he had thought the same thing.

“Be careful,” she said quietly. Especially since they could not sense the darkspawn, excepting a surprising few. “Be on the lookout for giant spiders too,” she added, recalling as well Ortan Thaig and its nest. An abandoned mine full of silverite was the perfect place for spiders that did not want to be disturbed by darkspawn. The darkspawn tended to steer clear of silverite when possible. Something in the ore itself clashed with the taint. 

She thought of Duty at her back and sighed, taking another step gingerly.

It took them some time to reach the bottom. The steps just went on and on. In the center of the tower above were massive iron rings like there had once been a pulley system for the miners to ship the ore out, but whatever ropes had once held it were long gone. 

Down they descended, until it was very difficult to see, and then Velanna set a glowing fire rune into the floor far below to light the way. It was not so far now, so Eideann proceeded, cautiously but a little faster, eager to get off the creaking, rotted stairs. To quell her nervousness, she reminded herself again and again that the steps had probably held darkspawn, and darkspawn were far heavier than they, even accounting for their number, packs, and weapons. 

And then at last they reached the bottom. She stepped onto the hard stone floor of the caverns, trying not to think of the Deep Roads, and took a glance up towards the opening before narrowed her gaze and pausing to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Velanna stepped down after here, and Nathaniel and Oghren after that, and then they stood together a moment in the dim light given up by Velanna’s fire rune. The elf paused, then carefully eased up on the magic until it dissipated and then she gave them all a cold glare. Fire flared into her hand, held there in an orb of licking flames, and plunged them into a world of red and deep shadows. Eideann drew Duty and King’s Justice and gave a glance to the others.

“Be wary,” she said, quietly, and then pushed on towards the caves.

There was a strange scent in the air, like perhaps there were darkspawn, but not close. She grimaced and gritted her teeth, and then took the first of the tunnels, which descended deeper into the earth. There was nothing to do but follow her nose at this point. The runes on the blades of her swords flickered, and she swallowed back her nervousness, determined to put on a good face. There was no time to be nervous when things needed sorting out.

Old lanterns hung from the old mine timbers. Each they passed, Velanna lit, surly as ever but at least proving herself useful. 

There were weird tracings on the floor, carved grooves, and odd circles, and Eideann paused a moment to consider them, listening into the darkness.

There was no Blightsong. There was nothing. Only a very slight breeze at her back. Even that was middling. Velanna glanced at the circles, eyes narrow, and then looked to Eideann with a grimace.

“Runes,” she murmured.

“Magic?” Eideann asked simply.

“Something,” was the reply from the elf. Eideann paused, listening again.

Something was wrong.

She could feel it.

And then she felt the Blight. She looked around, feeling the prickling at her neck, every sense she had calling out for her to seek the source. And then, finally, she turned, glancing back, to towards the entrance, and up to where the old mining platforms stood and the last lantern Velanna had lit was glowing. 

And out of the darkness came a dwarven woman, clad in corrupted Grey Warden armor, the blue and silver tabard and heavy plate. And at her side was a darkspawn, a twisted and warped emissary, in tattered robes and a strange hat, looking like its flesh was stretched to fit a figure far too big.

Eideann froze, hands tightening on her blades. It was the dwarf she could feel, not the darkspawn. 

“What in the Maker’s name – ?” Nathaniel began, but fell silent as Eideann stepped between them, eyes aflame with anger and determination. Her lips parted and she glared at them both, trying to make sense of what she was seeing, trying to work out what to do next, to figure out where the attack may come from. 

The emissary stretched out its arm, and spoke.

“Hush,” it said in a quiet voice. “Sleep.” And then the runes erupted, green light flickering through the grooves carved into the stone, sending a crackling of energy all about them, and a wave of magic hit her hard. She felt it punch all the energy from her, drive it out in force, and then all she felt was pain, cold and dark and seeping. And then everything went black.

***

She woke feeling cold, dizzy, and weak. Her head ached, her heart was pounding, and she could not feel her limbs. About her, soft clicks and hums sounded softly somewhere she could not see because everything was too bright. She focused on that, because her eyes were blank, and for a moment she did not even know if they were open or closed.

And then the bright light faded, and she could see stone high above her, ancient and crumbling and cut through with tree trunks from age. She followed it a moment.

 _Alistair?_

Something in the back of her mind tickled a little, a memory, pushing itself to the surface, and she closed her eyes a moment to feel the sensation of it pushing at her. 

_No…elven ruins, but not the Brecilian Forest._ The words swam around her, easing the memory niggling in the back of her mind, and with that acknowledgement other things came flooding back, foremost among them pain.

She felt it seize in her stomach and let out a soft gasp, trying to clutch her hands about the hurt. But she was shackled to the table, and could not move. Her first thought was panic. She shoved that away angrily, and closed her eyes again, gritting her teeth.

 _No! No, no, no, no, no!_ She felt her stomach clench again and tears welled at the corner of her eyes.

And then she heard it, the soft rustling of fabric on the ground, the cling of greaves against the stone. She willed herself to open her eyes, to turn her head.

The darkspawn emissary was there, and at his side the dwarven Grey Warden in the blighted armor. The presence was so close, the Song was a scream in her head. She felt a tear run from her eyes and forced herself to stop.

 _Don’t you dare let them see you cry, Cousland._

Her armor was gone and she lay in her trousers and the Warden tunic alone, feeling cold against the stone slab. Even Alistair’s ring was gone from her finger. She tried to keep her hands from shaking, to keep the shackles silent. The emissary and the Grey Warden were bending over her things at a table across the chamber, picking through the silverite cautiously. And then they stopped, recoiled. She saw the glow of the amber runes across the room. King’s Justice. The dwarf made a few frantic motions with her hands, and the emissary made a softly musing noise.

“Yes, Utha. We know this blade.” Eideann narrowed her eyes, and tried to focus on her panic, on willing it away.

 _Stop. Think._

And then the shuffling of robes drew close, and she looked up to see them approaching her. She focused on the dwarf a moment. Utha? And she felt a knot twist within her heart. The woman was blighted with mottled grey flesh. Her eyes had taken on a sickly scarlet glow. Her lips had peeled back somewhat to expose rotting teeth.

She was looking at her future. And the Blightsong was so powerful in her it made every part of her head hurt. And her stomach gave another jerk, wrenching her back into the present. Her lips parted slightly and she bit her tongue to keep a cry back. 

And then she looked to the emissary. It was hard to tell if he was watching her. Its face was half hidden behind a mask of bronze with only pits for eyes. But it was listening to her, certainly, and finally it spoke, its voice washing over her like slithering snakes in the grass. 

“So you are the Commander of the Grey Wardens?” he said in a very quiet voice, like he were judging her. 

She felt a shudder wrack through her and turned her face away.

“Do not be frightened,” the emissary said, and she heard the slide of metal. She looked back in alarm to find the creature was holding a knife of sharp steel. The blade was a wickedly pointed thing. And he stepped forward. “I apologize for what I must do. I do not wish to be your enemy,” he said, and she felt his cold clammy claws curl about her arm. She recoiled, fighting it, but could not escape. “Now is not the time for this,” the creature said simply. And then the knife dug into her arm.

She screamed. It burned. She felt the trickle of hot blood spill down her arm, and she arched against the restraints, trying to break free. She could not think, could not breathe, and the Blightsong raged in her head.

 _This is it. This is how you are going to die: chained to slab in the depths of a crumbling ruin, an experiment for a darkspawn until the Blight drives you mad._ The emissary drew away, and the dwarf followed, and she turned her head to see her arm, a jagged gash down the length, dripping blood onto the table and running like spiderwebs from the wound across her flesh. Here, in this tainted place, did it matter? She was already infected with the Blight. It called to her a wrenching and cacophonous tune, and she squeezed her eyes shut. The tears welled out anyway, spilling across her eyes and slipping into her hair. 

_Alistair._

She was going to die, there, alone, in pain. She would never see him again. She had led the others to their deaths, and failed Ferelden. 

She thought of the child she had given up, and finally, now, at the end of all things, let herself feel the sharp pain of that loss. She felt her sobs wrack through her, focused on the intense pain across her body, focused on that emptiness within her. And she let out a cry, a heartwrenching scream. It did not even come out as a real scream, it was a pathetic broken wail of a pathetic broken soul.

 _All I have given…_

She turned her face away from her bloodied arm, letting the pain swallow her. 

How long she lay there then, she did not know. At some point, she felt the emissary return, and then she heard the shackles being released, and she was dragged to her feet. 

The stone floor was a cold shock to the soles of her feet without her boots. She jolted into some semblance of attention. The Blightsong grew harsher again as the dwarven Warden caught her by the arm. Her touch was cold, but it burned like fire against her flesh. Eideann gave a soft moan of pain and despair. She did not even have the wherewithal to care where she was going as the dwarf led her down a set of steps and through a door.

The chamber was filled with cells. She barely had time to allow that to register before the dwarf hauled open one of the doors and she was roughly shoved inside. And then the heavy echo of metal slamming, the grating sound of a key being turned, and the noise of departing footsteps washed over her, too loud, too much. 

But with it went the Blightsong, though it did not fade entirely.

She was alone in the cell. She sank then and there to her knees and crawled into the corner to lay her head in her arms somewhere she could watch the door for signs they were coming back.

She clamped her arms about herself, gripping the wound where the emissary had cut close to her chest where the blood stained her tunic. And she brought her knees up to her chest, hanging her head and sobbing. 

_After all you’ve done, all you’ve justified, this is no less than you deserve._

The door opened, swinging on rusting hinges with a painful squeak, and she pushed herself further back into the corner. And then it swung shut again. She looked up. Nathaniel was standing, looking equally tormented, and his arm was bleeding too.

“Eideann…” 

It was the only time he’d called her by her name. She drew away from him, turning her face away. He did not move.

And then suddenly he had moved, was beside her sinking down with his back to the wall right next to her. She wanted to hate him, but she was the hateful one. She was the one who had ruined his life, dragged him into the Grey Wardens, led him to that point. 

“Don’t touch me…” she breathed, but he was not listening, instead grasping his injured arm, holding it up to try and stop the bleeding. She glanced to it, matching scars, and then shook her head, eyes welling with tears.

“Do we know what it is?” he asked after a moment. How could he be all business? 

“Emissary,” she breathed, eyes dark. “Darkspawn mage.” What he made of that, she could not tell. She refused to look.

“And that dwarf…she was a Warden…the armor…” he finally murmured. Eideann said nothing, just looking away back at her knees. In the corner of her eye she could see the blood trickling down her arm. “I…I heard a scream…Velanna?” Eideann shook her head. 

_No. That was me._

He turned to her then. She felt his cold eyes on her.

“What is the matter with you!? You’re the Commander of the Grey Wardens! What are you doing?!” he demanded. She looked up at him, and at the sight of tears running down her cheeks, hate in her gaze, he froze, staring. His mouth twisted into a sneer, eyes dark, like he did not understand. “You’re just going to give up?!” 

She looked away, tears in her eyes, and her lips parted, but no words came. She felt him take her by the shoulders, give her a shake. 

“We can’t just let them kill us!” Nathaniel roared. She pulled away, shoving him from her, and he fell back onto his hip, to lay on the stone and stare.

“You know nothing of what they will do to us!” she said, her voice venom. “You can’t even hear it! You can’t hear the Song! It’s screaming in my head! I can hardly think! I can hardly breathe!” She clutched her arms about her stomach, hunching over. “My whole body is screaming to die,” she said in a horrified voice. “Enough! It’s too much…I can’t…”

“Stop it! Just stop! Can you hear yourself! If you give up…If _you_ …” She looked to him, and he shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on with you. I don’t know what the hell you’re even doing here. But I am not going to die just because you are having a mental breakdown!” She met his gaze, and he stared her down, pushing himself up to a crouch, steadying himself with his fingers against the cracked stone floor.

“I killed my baby,” she said. The words escaped her. She had never meant to tell him. She could not stop. “I killed my baby…” She felt the tears, hot and heavy, spill out, roll down her cheek. They almost tickled. It all felt so unreal. 

Nathaniel was watching her, unable to speak. She looked away. 

“I am a coward. That’s why I came to Amaranthine. To hide. So I didn’t have to think of it. I went to face the Archdemon with a baby inside me, and when I came back down it was gone. I killed my baby.” 

And then he shook his head angrily, reaching to catch hold of her wrist. His fingers were tight about her flesh, painful, and she looked up at him. He met her eyes, angry.

“You _came_ to Amaranthine to do your duty and stop the darkspawn,” he spat, his voice a low hiss. “You _came_ to Amaranthine to do something about all the horrible things that are happening. You did not come here to _die_.” He released her, pushing her hand away, and rising. “And I won’t let you, Cousland. Get up. Before I drag you up.” She rubbed at her wrist a little as he turned his back on her, watching the blood that was trickling from his arm drip onto the stone floor through his fingers. And then she did try to rise. 

It was hard, so hard, to force herself up. She had accepted that this was it, and he would not let her. But she rose. She had to.

 _A Cousland always does her duty first._

She was shaking when she finally rose, and her arm was stinging and her stomach was a pitted mess of roiling anguish and pain, and everything was exhausting.

“Now,” Nathaniel Howe said, Coastland eyes boring into her. “Take command, Commander.” She sighed, looking up through tired eyes, banked fires and despair, and then gritted her teeth, looking through the bars of the cell. Across the room she could see Oghren and Velanna sitting in silence, waiting. She drew a breath.

“Oghren?” He looked up, with dark and angry eyes stinging with hate.

“You finally feel like doing something about this?” he spat angrily. She curled her hands about the bars of her cell and pressed the cold metal to her forehead. It was rusted but the shock of the temperature brought her back to reality, back to herself. She pushed the pain aside and tried to think through the haunting singing in her head. 

And then she heard the tapping of footsteps. That was no darkspawn shuffle. She narrowed her eyes and turned. Whatever was approached had the Blight. 

Velanna looked up, as did Oghren, and pushed herself to her feet across the room. And then, around the corner, an elf appeared, clad in Dalish armor. Large eyes considered Eideann in her cell a moment, filmy and silver with the taint. Eideann felt the darkness hit her and gritted her teeth. 

“Seranni!” Eideann glanced up to see Velanna clinging to the bars of her own cell now, staring with horror at the elf who stood in the center of the hall on bare feet. “What have they done to you?” Seranni turned her mottled flesh and tainted eyes to Velanna and spoke.

“They haven’t done anything,” she said quietly. Eideann shook her head bitterly. “I’m fine, Velanna.” The voice was young, too young, a mere girl’s. Beside her, Nathaniel had come to grip the bars as well and stare through. The girl, as if feeling the eyes on her, looked back then. “It’s not me he wants,” she said. Eideann felt a chill settle over her.

“Let me out!” Velanna declared. “I will take you home!” Seranni’s lips twisted, darkened with the taint, and she shook her head a little. 

“I can’t,” she said, and then turned away, slipping into the darkness.

“Seranni!” Velanna cried. “Seranni! No! Come back!” 

But the elf girl did not return, and after a moment, Velanna slipped, reaching through the bars, to her knees, shaking. 

“Velanna,” Eideann said quietly, eyes fixing on the elf. The woman did not move, made no sign that she had heard. So Eideann tried again. “Velanna…”

“What do you want, shem?!” Her eyes were dark and full of hate.

“The bars are rusted.” Her eyes were cold. “Is there any chance of using your magic…maybe that tree root spell of yours, to wrench the bars apart?” For a moment Velanna was quiet, staring at her with anger and rage, and then she stepped back from the bars, closing her eyes, and put up her hands. The stone floor trembled, then tore, shattering upwards and splitting into great cracks, as the roots of the trees wound their way around the bars and up. And roots crumbled as they twisted from the ceiling as well, until the entire cage was covered in the limbs of trees, twisting and warping and hauling and creaking and cracking. 

A few of the roots snapped from the strain, but others bore weight. And there was the load groan of iron as it bent and then gave. The bars pried back, pried out, a terrible maw of rusted iron teeth, and Velanna stepped through with a disgusted look. 

“Stand back,” she warned, and put up a hand, and Eideann got clear just in time as the force of rock and earth smashed into the iron door and knocked it from its hinges. She stared at the boulder, then up at Velanna, and then finally nodded, rising wearily to her feet. 

“I knew you could do it,” she said quietly.

“And what do you know of me, shem?!” Velanna spat.

“More than you think I do,” Eideann said coldly. She glanced over towards the other cage where Oghren was squeezing through the space made in the bars. “Do you think you can fight the darkspawn down here?” He gave her a look full of hate and nodded.

“I’ll throttle them with my bare hands,” he grimaced. She nodded.

“We need our gear. That can’t stay here.” She closed her eyes a moment, then looked up towards the far door where she vaguely remembered entering before. “We’ll go that way first. And then see what else we can find. I don’t sense anything that way, not anymore, but that means little.” Oghren stalked over and then glanced to her arm as she motioned to the doors.

“What in the ancestor’s name did they do to you both?” he asked, glaring, glancing between her arm and Nathaniel’s. She breathed a sigh, glad they had not taken him yet, and shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s go.” She let Oghren take the lead, and Velanna not far behind him since she could do spells. She felt significantly underdressed. If the darkspawn wanted them dead, now was the time to do it. The last time she had been so unprepared for a fight had been the night Highever had been sacked. She did not like the comparison. 

Nathaniel Howe was watching her, something…uncertain in his gaze. 

The corridors were empty, however, and it was part by luck and part by chance they found their way back to the chambers where she had first awoken. Her blood still lay on the slab, and more beside it – probably Nathaniel’s. She could still hear the strange clicks and hums, but these were from random experiments cluttered about the chamber. There were old books there, rotted by time, and strange instruments that spun and whirred as if by magic. There were not the work of darkspawn, or even perhaps of elves. She grimaced and scanned the room. 

Her silverite clothes were missing, moved it seemed by the Grey Warden. Even her ring was still gone. She hated that. But on the table lay King’s Justice, glowing softly with runes, dropped and abandoned. Where it lay, it repelled the darkness. She took it up quietly, feeling it fitting into her hand, and then carefully slid it back into the sheath that lay beneath it, eyes flashing dark and grim.

That darkspawn and the Grey Warden had known this sword, had seen it before. Why? How? When?

The blade had been Maric’s once. They said he had found it in the Deep Roads. Dragonbone made to fight the Blight. She grimaced, and then drew a deep breath. They had not taken it because they could not touch it.

She turned then to the books, the papers scattered and crumpling across the table, and found that the damned emissary could write as well as speak. She did not know if that frightened her more, or what he was writing was worse. She looked over the notes, a journal of some sort detailing the events, and found Seranni was the only elf left alive, and that someone called The Seeker was responsible for the attacks on the elves. She stared at the paper, then glanced to Velanna, and held it out to her. The elf took it, cautiously, then skimmed the words

“The female elf has developed a bond of sorts with her guard. Many of the other disciples seem drawn to her as well,” she read aloud, then gave a cry and threw the book, scattering the pages.

It was Nathaniel Howe who crossed the chamber and gathered up the papers. Eideann caught his eye as he tucked them away inside his tunic to keep them safe. They may need them later.

Eideann was almost entirely convinced that The Seeker was a darkspawn just like the one that had led the attack on Vigil’s Keep. What else they might find in that journal…

She shuddered and looked away.

“We need to leave, to get out of here,” she said in a quiet voice. “Our gear isn’t here. We’ll just have to do what we can.” Nathaniel gave her a dubious look. Oghren just snarled.

“Fine,” he said. 

So they slipped back out into the corridor.

Eideann had never felt more afraid than she did in those moments, trying to make sense of what was happening. She had King’s Justice ready for her left hand, her right weakened from the knife wound that still throbbed painfully. She was almost as good with her left as her right, a consequence of dual wielding, but it did not mean that she felt comfortable with only the one sword.

She wanted her things back. She wanted her life back. She wanted that child back. She wanted everything back.

She wished it were all a bad dream.

The corridor took them to a massive antechamber where a statue stood in the center, worn by erosion and time until it hardly looked like a statue at all. There were mosaics on the floor at the base, and worse still: darkspawn. These were the sort she could not sense. She narrowed her gaze and Oghren drew alongside her.

“Grunts,” he grumbled, “and an Alpha if we’re unlucky.”

“We’re always unlucky,” Eideann replied quietly, scanning the chamber for any advantage. After all, her sword was the only weapon they had. That and Velanna’s magic. Without a staff, Eideann had no idea what sort of power still remained to the elf.

She glanced along the balconies until her eyes fell on something overlooking the main chamber. 

“There,” she said in a low hiss. 

“A ballista?” Oghren demanded after seeing where she was pointing. He did not look impressed. Eideann did not care. She slipped silently along the battlements, staying low behind the railings so they would not be seen. All the same, this close, it was just as likely they be felt, what with the taint in their blood. 

The ballista looked old, originally meant for the defense of the hall, as though they were near the front of the ruins. Eideann narrowed her gaze and carefully turned it on its base, wincing at every sound it made, until it was aimed for the statue.

“Nate,” she called softly. “Line this up and see if you can’t bring that statue down.” He gave her a slight sigh, then took her place, eyeing down the bolt and the aim. A ballista was just a larger version of bow after all, or so she liked to think. 

Nathaniel did not like oversimplifications. 

But when he at last released the bolt, his aim was true. It pierced through one of the statue’s legs, leaving it tottering on a single column, and then the whole thing came crashing down, shattering the colorful mosaic at the base and burying most of the darkspawn in a hail of stone. 

And then the remaining ones came charging up the steps. Eideann hurtled herself over the bannister, and was surprised to find Velanna on her tail. Velanna’s fire magic erupted, and those that survived met King’s Justice at the foot of the steps. 

It was enough.

“Strip their weapons,” Eideann said coolly. “Anything that might be of use.” Nathaniel had been right of course. She had come to Amaranthine because someone had needed to come. It may have been to forget, to hide away, but it was to forget by doing her duty, the same way she always had.

She watched as Nathaniel dug a bow from the pile, and Velanna found a darkspawn staff that twisted in her hands. And Oghren came up with a massive corroded warhammer that made him look as angry as he probably felt. 

So be it. They would escape this deathtrap. They would put an end to this. They were Grey Wardens. Darkspawn could not stop them.

She gripped Maric’s blade in her hand and turned towards the chamber doors, eyes shining with fire.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran plies his trade; Eideann and her company recover their gear and find a few new allies in the ancient ruins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: violence
> 
> Comments always welcome :)

It was a generally accepted fact that the best place to find information about underhanded political plots was the pub, and that was also the best place to find the sort of people willing to give that information away for a kiss and a moment alone. That, coupled with the fact he had a purse full of gold from Eideann, and he was more or less set for the evening.

It had been a few days since she disappeared into the Wending Wood chasing darkspawn. He had stayed at the Vigil, that unfriendly new fortress of hers, as long as he dared before helping himself to a horse from the rather helpful Groundskeeper and his boy and riding north towards the City of Amaranthine in search of news.

Eideann had told him everything, all the details and all her suspicions. She was an intelligent girl, more than capable of picking those who were working against her out of a crowd. She had to be. But he was a master, and she was his friend, and if there was anything he could do to make sure her mission here went unimpeded, he would do it.

He gave a small smile and leaned on the counter, waving down the bartender.

“Do you have Antivan brandy, my fine friend?” he asked as the man approached. Given Amaranthine was a major port, the bartender did have quality brandy, and poured a snifter for him. Zevran took a deep swallow, smiling against the taste, then gave a great sigh.

There was a minstrel in the corner, playing a familiar song: Leliana’s _I Am The One_. It did not sound the same with her voice, but it was good to hear it again. He closed his eyes a moment to listen, not just to the song but the crowd that was gathered in the chamber.

“I don’t know anything else about it. If you want to talk that sort of trouble, you’ll need to speak to Ser Timothy.” Zevran slid his eyes open, turning to put his back to the bar, and set the toes of his boots up on the footrail to consider the room. 

“I’m asking you!” 

“And I’m telling you I don’t know anything about it!” 

The conversation was quiet, furtive, and nearby. Zevran glanced to the minstrel, who smiled through her chorus, but the corner of his eye was watching the two men hunched over a table looking uncomfortable. 

“But even you must agree,” one was saying, clutching his tankard in both hands, “that it’s disgraceful! And keeping his son around…” 

“Hush. Anyone could hear you,” the other said sharply, silencing him with a look. “I told you. Go and find Ser Timothy if you want to speak like that. He’ll listen to you.” Zevran downed the brandy and glanced back to the minstrel who was watching him with quiet eyes. For a moment he thought of Leliana, and a slight grin twisted his lips a little before he sighed and set the glass aside. And then he made his way through the tables towards the doorway.

How long he loitered outside, he was unsure. He huddled in the cold wind, wrapped in a loose cloak he had taken from the Vigil to ward off the chill. He would never understand how Ferelden could be so cold. He had thought the winter spent in camps with Eideann and Alistair and the others would have conditioned him better for it, but this biting wind was from the Waking Sea itself, and was thick with salt and brine. 

Suddenly the inn door swung open and the wind caught and held it like a heavy sail a moment as a man stepped out before slamming it closed behind him. The man was one of those engaged in furtive discussion earlier. Zevran pushed away from the wall and followed him down the steps into the Lane of Wares.

The man seemed to feel he was being followed. He kept looking back, but Zevran was a better spy that that. He simply busied himself at tables, adjusting his cloak, sometimes hood up, sometimes down, so he never presented the same picture twice. To an amateur like this nobleman, who was clearly more used to people playing by the rules, he was almost invisible, just another elf in a grimy city full of people. 

He followed him through the market and out the other end, and then across the paths that led into the nicer part of town where some of the nobles lived. And that was when the man froze, turning to stare back at the market, a suspicious and frightened look on his face. Zevran faded into the crowd, and slipped around through the backstreets, circling, until at last he came out just ahead of the nobleman, who was now watching over his shoulder as he hurried on.

Zevran reached out, caught him by the shoulder, and set the point of his dagger to the man’s stomach, pinning him to the alleyway wall and considering him.

“Hello, my friend. Tell me…where might I find Ser Timothy?” 

***

She could hear them, some of them at least. Not the darkspawn, they were that strangely silent sort. But she could hear the ghouls, the ones still compelled by the song. Whatever had broken the connection to the Blightsong was not passed on when the taint infected others. It was a deliberate process. Eideann did not like what that meant. Either something was deliberately severing the darkspawn from the Blightsong, or else at the center was a nest that had somehow changed, and all those darkspawn they encountered came from the same source. 

She knew which was more likely, given the quantity. She hated to even think on that. But how could there be so many darkspawn under Amaranthine without some sort of nest? 

She hoped it was not anywhere nearby in those tunnels. Without her armor she felt defenseless. And she still wanted Duty and her ring back. 

They took the tunnels cautiously, though Eideann could sense Oghren’s anger and frustration. After his initial depression he had staggered into a fit of rage, and it was all she could do to keep him from slipping into his berserker fits and going all out – probably resulting in getting them all killed. She relied instead on Nathaniel’s limited arrows to bring down those that caused danger, or Velanna’s Keeper magic, to topple those they could from afar. Any that got to close had to face her and Oghren, though without armor each encounter was frightening.

The darkspawn were the worst, since she could not tell they were coming. She had forgotten how frightening it was not to know, not to think. As bleak as it was to know that the connection to the darkspawn that let her sense them was just a part of the spread of the infection, she missed the advantage now. She felt vulnerable, and raw. 

Her arm still throbbed from the wound she had that matched Nathaniel’s. Her whole body ached with the truth of admitting to herself she was hiding there in Amaranthine. She had not lied to Nathaniel. He may have given her back her purpose: saving those of Amaranthine. But he could not take away the truth that she had fled Denerim to hide from that part of herself. 

She was still there to come to terms with who she could really be, and she did not like who it was at the moment. 

But this…this was different. Breaking free of those ancient ruins and the grip of the darkspawn was simply business. She had to see it done.

And she wanted Alistair’s ring back.

The old ruins did run directly into the Silverite Mines themselves. They took those tunnels carefully, since Mines could end anywhere, and even the dwarves knew the tread carefully in abandoned tunnels. She could sense a few blighted creatures, presumably ghouls, and knew the tunnels themselves had become a base of operations for the darkspawn accompanying that strange emissary. But a base was not a nest, the smell was wrong anyway, and that, at least, was something to hope about. 

She drew up short as they broke through into another part of the tunnels, sensing a ghoul straight ahead. The creatures had once been human once, corrupted into black and grey shriveled creatures with red eyes and balding white hairs and receding gums and lips that bore rotted teeth. They had no free will, and killing them was a mercy, but they were still nasty in a fight. Gear from the surface or the Deep Roads fit them, and they knew how to fire crossbows or swing blades with the rest of them. 

She grimaced, and waited to see what this one would be.

The ghoul that appeared was a dwarf, the mottled tattoos on its face marking it as a member of the Legion of the Dead long ago. Eideann felt a pang of anger at that. The Legion served tirelessly below, and she knew the costs they paid to fight the darkspawn. To see one so converted…

But worse, it wore Grey Warden gear, armor that did not quite fit but was at least in the right range for size. And it was carrying Oghren’s battleaxe. 

Oghren near exploded.

“That’s mine!” he roared, glaring at Eideann. “That _thing_ has my things!” The ghoul looked to them, eyes glimmering red, and opened its mouth in a sickly rendition of a smile, twisted by the fact its teeth were rotted and falling away. “It’s got its sallow, clammy hands all over my doodads! Touching my junk!” Oghren did not wait. He hefted his borrowed warhammer and charged. “No one touches Oghren’s junk and lives!” he roared and dove in. Eideann grimaced and then glanced to Nathaniel as Oghren’s voice carried and brought other ghouls from the nearby tunnels. 

“Nate, cover,” she barked and then hurried forward, sliding in under the guard of the nearest ghoul and spearing it through the corrupted maw with King’s Justice. 

Ghouls were difficult to fight en masse. It was Velanna who solved that problem, nearly singing Oghren and Eideann both as she brought a torrent of fire down upon them all. Oghren kicked the ghoul with his gear down and then smashed his warhammer through its skull, over and over until it stilled, and then he gave a roar, something dwarven, and whirled upon the rest.

It was surprisingly quick, given their state of arms. When they were certain that all the ghouls lay dead, Oghren set about heaving his gear from the first, muttering angrily to himself, and tearing his armor free. And then he spat on it and scrubbed it with his sleeve, grimacing about how it was contaminated now, before buckling it on. And then he took up his battleaxe reverently and grimaced.

Not far from the chamber they found a small tunnel that led back into the elven ruins, and there were a few chests that held the rest of Oghren’s things. He dove first for his flask, laying atop it all, and downed the entirety of it before sitting back. If he looked a little bleary, he also looked sharper. Eideann considered him carefully, then looked about the room.

There were other things in the chamber as well, the rest of their armor. Even Eideann’s. They dressed carefully, Velanna in the remaining chain of her First’s garb, and Eideann tore through the chests, desperate, hardly daring to hope.

When she found it at long last, she breathed a sigh of relief. A stash with all their jewelry lay somewhere near the bottom. There was her Warden pendant, the blood red on its silver chain slightly different from the others since it had been made at a different time. She looped it over her neck, then drew forth the rest for the others to reclaim.

And at the bottom was her silverite and iron ring, glistening dully in the strange dim light from Velanna’s fires and the dull silverite glow from the caverns. Eideann carefully slid it back onto her finger. 

_Alistair._

She needed his help, she realized suddenly. She needed someone who knew darkspawn, understood them. Oghren could fight them, but never tried to think as they did. And the others were too new to be able to try. She needed help. She needed…

She needed Alistair. 

She wondered if, should they make it back to the Vigil, she could justify calling him back to join her. But then she remembered the chaos in the Bannorn, the leftover vestiges of the Blight to the south and Loghain’s Civil War, and she grimaced, knowing in this she had to be alone. 

And it scared her.

Alistair had told her once that bravery was not the same as being fearless. 

_Bravery is feeling fear and choosing to go on anyway,_ he had said. His murmured words in her mind, quiet and gentle, filled her soul with something pure, a light that shone and lifted her up. 

She looked to the others, eyes considering, and knew that for a lie. She was not alone. She would just need them to be as dedicated as she had been when first she started.

Two Grey Wardens had ended the Blight. She could do this. She had more help now.

She did not find Duty, and Nathaniel’s bow was still missing, but Velanna’s Dalish staff stood leaning against one wall like the darkspawn or the ghouls had been uncertain what to do with it. She took it up with a fiendish grin.

“Now,” the elf said, her voice cold, “I shall make them pay.” 

“No doubt we will find the other weapons further in,” Eideann said as she tucked her pendant into her tunic. She also had no idea where Zevran’s gift of the lyrium clock had gone. She hoped it was still functioning. 

The Silverite Mine was still bursting with lyrium. She was glad to see that there would be the opportunity to outfit her people better once the current infestation had been dealt with. She still had not found where it slipped into the Deep Roads, and right now that was not her primary concern. She was beginning to wonder if it even did. These darkspawn, the emissary’s book had suggested, were led by The Seeker, who had effectively turned Velanna and the merchants against one another. Perhaps this truly was just a base they had claimed while on the surface. If it led to the Deep Roads, she was not entirely convinced anymore. After all, the parts of her memory borrowed from the ancient elf from the Brecilian Ruins said that these ruins were old, but small. That did not mean there were no Deep Roads, but it did imply that perhaps it did not go deep enough here to cross paths. 

Even a Mine would have to dig deeply to reach the true Deep Roads. 

“This way,” she said when at last they reached more tunnels, half of them running with ancient elven walls, lit by an eerie green flame that shone in the braziers. 

“How do you know?” Velanna snapped.

“I…remember,” Eideann said. The elf was not taking such an answer any longer.

“You say you remember, but how? Have you been here before, shemlen? Elgar’nan! I insist you tell me!” Eideann fixed her with a dark look.

“You’ll just have to trust me on this. It sounds ridiculous, because it probably is, but an ancient elf trapped in a soul gem shared these memories with me in exchange for being set free. I helped it, and now I have strange recollections at times.” She glared at Velanna, daring her to speak up, and the elf’s lips twisted into a smirk. But then she looked away, broke contact first. “Now,” Eideann said, “if you’re done asking questions, I’m doing the best I can here, and we need to go this way.” She pointed again down the tunnels, and then took off without another word. And everyone followed. They did not have any other choice anyway.

The elven ruins began to disappear then, fading into the walls of the Silverite Mine itself. The stone walls were replaced by rotting support beams and veins of silverite ore. Then tunnels became chiseled and blasted stone, and the place was littered with the remnants of a mining operation long abandoned. 

“I hear something.” Eideann glanced back at Nathaniel’s sudden pronouncement. “A voice?” he asked, looking to her. She pushed through the Blight and listened hard. It sounded like someone in pain. She grimaced.

“It could be another ghoul,” she said.

“No, they hiss,” Oghren said flatly. Eideann nodded, and then Nathaniel stepped into one of the unstable-looking side tunnels.

“Watch out for rock wraiths,” Oghren grumbled, as if there were such a thing. Eideann raised an eyebrow, but followed Nathaniel in.

The crying was no ghoul, but a human, a man, clad in the silverite armor and the blue and silver tabard of the Grey Wardens sent from Orlais. He lay, wounded, on the ground, his legs battered and twisted beneath him, clearly maimed by some large warhammer or a nasty fall. He gripped his sword, fear in his eyes, as they came round the corner. But when he saw they were human and not ghouls at all, he carefully lowered it, panting against the pain, and stared at them with something like relief.

“You’re…you’re the Warden Commander, Queen Eideann,” he said. His forehead was covered in blood from an attack, and it was slicking his black hair back. A significant amount of growth had sprung up on his face showing he had been there for some time.

“Are you Kristoff?” Eideann said, aware that Kristoff had supposedly gone to Blackmarsh. He may have changed his mind. The man shook his head.

“No…Warden Keenan,” he said quietly. “I would not have expected to meet you here. Did those bastards get you too?” Eideann crouched down before him, glancing back.

“Velanna, do you know any healing spells?” The elf grimaced.

“One, but it won’t work miracles.” Eideann sighed and nodded, and Velanna stepped forward. The air filled with a light green glow as she set to work over Keenan’s legs. Eideann turned back to Keenan and his brown eyes fixed on her.

“We were at Vigil’s Keep less than a week when the darkspawn came,” he said quietly. “I think I’m the only one left.” 

“You were captured at the Vigil?” Eideann asked. That settled that then. None of the beasts had fled via the road. All had gone through the tunnels below into the Deep Roads. There was a Deep Roads entrance somewhere nearby, probably in those tunnels itself. She grimaced. 

“I think I’m the only one left,” he told her wearily. “The others are dead, or worse.” In only a few days. Eideann thought of her bloodied wrist and sighed. At least in this there was a man who could help them. At least here there was a man with some knowledge of what it meant to be a Warden.

“Do you know what the darkspawn are doing?” she asked. He grimaced.

“I’m not sure,” he said, his voice tired. He seemed alright, but head-wounds were dangerous, and with his legs so crippled... “The emissary who leads them is more cunning than any darkspawn I’ve encountered,” the man added, gritting his teeth as Velanna’s magic knitted flesh and bone back together. “He’s fascinated with Wardens.” He shook his head. “There is a darkspawn here carrying a huge maul,” he said sharply. “He crushed my legs. He took my wedding ring.” Eideann felt a cold feeling settle over her. “Please, Commander, slay him.” There was hatred in his voice, his request. “Bring the ring to my wife, Needa in Amaranthine. Tell her I died trying to make this world better.” She shook her head, glancing to Velanna who gave her a wary glance.

“There’s only so much I can do here,” the elf said flatly. Eideann wet her lips.

“You’ll never get me out. I cannot walk,” Keenan declared, accepting the fact.

“Bullshit,” Eideann said quietly. “We will get you out. I’m not losing good Wardens. We have a Spirit Healer waiting for us in the woods. If anyone can help you…” 

“I’ll die, Commander. I know it. I’ll only hinder you.” Eideann caught him by the collar of his tunic, eyes fierce.

“I am not going to let that happen. There are five Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden, including myself, and one of them is the King. I won’t let you give up.” Keenan considered her with quiet eyes, then nodded solemnly. Eideann rose, glancing to the elf who was pouring what magic she could into him.

“Velanna, stay with him?” she asked quietly. “We will return as soon as we can with one of the miner wheelbarrows.” The elf gave her a dubious look.

“And what of Seranni?” she insisted.

“We will find her as well,” Eideann declared, meeting her gaze. Velanna weighed the words a moment, then gave a curt nod, turning back. “We shall return in a moment. Nate, wait here too?” 

Eideann went with Oghren then back into the tunnels the way they had come to where the mining equipment lay abandoned. They were in luck, and Eideann’s memory proved correct when they stumbled upon a wheelbarrow used to cart out ore. It even have several mined chunks within. Eideann considered it a moment, then nodded, motioning to Oghren.

“You get that side,” she suggested, motioning to one of the handles. He just gave her a smirk.

“I’ll get the whole sodding thing, Warden,” he spat, and then proceeded to do so. “We taking this ore topside?” 

“Can we carry it all?” Eideann asked him. Oghren shrugged.

“May need to lose the armor when we reach that Warden,” he said simply.

“We can get him new armor,” Eideann replied simply, and then led the way back carefully, listening to the sound of the blight moving beyond to warn them of any incoming ghouls. 

At the cavern with Keenan, Velanna had given up with all of the work of healing. She could only do so much. Unlike her mentor Keeper Ilshae, she was stronger in destructive spells. That was fine, if a little less helpful at the moment. She gave Eideann a wary look and then considered the ore-laden wheelbarrow.

“It won’t be the most comfortable ride,” she said simply, bending down to Keenan again, “but we need the ore and we need you.” She reached for the buckles of his armor.

“What…what are you doing?”

“Keep the breastplate, but the rest is just going to weigh you down. We have to push you. We’ll get you a new uniform at the Vigil,” she told him and then yanked his gauntlets free. He had the same scar along his arm as she and Nathaniel had.

Nathaniel was the one who helped lift him into the wheelbarrow. Oghren once again took charge, wheeling the man along with a red face at the effort. At least he had the muscle for it. And his pride dictated he let no one else help. 

Keenan, crippled legs hanging over the front of the wheelbarrow, clung to the sides, face a mask of pain he was enduring simply to see he survived. 

“The darkspawn?” he said wearily. Eideann gave him a simple look.

“We’ll kill it, and all the rest. And then we’ll bring these tunnels down.” He nodded. “Do you know where the Deep Roads entrance is from here?” Eideann asked. Keenan grimaced, then shook his head.

“I couldn’t find it,” he replied. “But I know it’s in one of the old elven chambers. They blew a hole through a wall, and we emerged from the Deep Roads into the great chamber.” He gritted his teeth. “Please, Commander, leave me…”

“I’m not leaving my Wardens behind!” Eideann cut him off, glaring. He stared. She sighed. “I don’t leave anyone behind when I have the choice. And here, for once, we have the choice. Anders will help you, you will see.” And with that done she went to join Nathaniel near the front of the group, since Oghren was little use as a front line bodyguard when he was wheeling the Warden in the wheelbarrow along. The wood of the wheelbarrow creaked from the weight behind her, and clattered along the stone floor in case anything was not aware they were coming.

She did not care. She was done creeping about. She was ready for blood now. If she had to cut her way through every darkspawn in the tunnels to do it, she would, gladly, singlehandedly.

“Thank you for doing what you could, Velanna,” she said as the mage joined them. The elf just gave her a dark look.

“This is a mistake,” she said curtly. “We’re going too slowly, and we’ll lose them.”

“They are not trying to flee,” Eideann said quietly. “I can sense the Grey Warden he keeps at his side. Utha?”

“The durgenlen?” Velanna said with a look of distaste. “What is she doing with such a creature anyway?!”

“A good question,” Eideann said, but had no answers to give. Instead they pushed on, into the tunnels. Here and there she could sense the ghouls.

And so could Keenan. And that made her glad of him all the same, even if he was ready to give up. Had she not been ready to give up though, back in her cell, when Nathaniel had hauled her to her feet? She thought again of the jagged wounds on their arms and snarled.

“All I know,” she finally said to Velanna, is that when we meet that emissary again, I am going to make him pay in blood for whatever disgusting experiments he is trying to undertake.” At least in that they were agreed. Velanna’s eyes flashed cold and angry, and echoed Eideann’s own.

They travelled the winding mine shafts then, through dim silverite veins and lanterns lit by Velanna’s magic. Out of the darkness, ghouls sometimes came, charging them with twisted grins and minds no longer mortal. Eideann finished them all with Velanna and Nathaniel. 

And then they finally found it, the chambers that led back into the elven ruin Keenan had spoken of, the route into the Deep Roads. Eideann called a halt, eyes narrow, and motioned for Nathaniel and Velanna to come with her, leaving Oghren to watch over the ore and Keenan. Together they crept through the corridors.

The passages were empty of darkspawn, but lined instead with strange workings of ancient gods. Velanna walked through them nervously, eyeing up the statues with a solemn air.

“These are statues that honored the Creators in the time of Arlathan,” she said suddenly, her voice catching in awe. She reached out, like she might touch one, a winged being bearing a spear, then drew back. “Falon’din. Friend of the Dead.” She looked a little shaken, considering the other one, but had nothing more to say. Finally she bowed her head. 

“Ir abelas,” Eideann said, the only ancient elven she knew, gleaned from the days spent at Soldier’s Peak awaiting news of the final battle. Velanna’s eyes narrowed, and she looked up, but anything she may have said disappeared, and she grimaced instead.

The nearest chamber was a small bedroom, perhaps that of the dwarf, though she had never heard of ghouls needing to sleep. She found little of interest there, save that the chamber had clearly been lived in, so she moved on. Further beyond they emerged into a large chamber with a set of winding steps. Eideann sighed and sent Nathaniel back to find out more.

There was a man in the chamber, she realized rather suddenly, watching them with violet eyes that reminded her of another pair she had stared into long long ago. His grey skin was not the mottled blight but the flesh of the Qunari, and the horns that sprouted from his head swept back like dragon horns. They glittered with beaten gold. He narrowed his gaze at her, and she took the steps towards him, taking note of the crates and barrels stacked beside him.

“You are not supposed to be here,” the Qunari said darkly. His voice was a higher pitch than Sten’s had ever been, but he was every bit as dour-sounding. Eideann paused.

“Were you captured as well?” she asked, curious how a Qunari had ended up there in those ruins. 

“Once,” the Qunari told her. “I made a deal with the creatures and they set me free I bring them supplies. They give me gold.” Eideann thought long and hard of Sten, of his Prophet Koslun quotes that had rolled from his tongue, of his love of biscuits and the way he smelled flowers when he thought no one was watching, his determination that she could be no woman. She sighed. This Qunari, it appeared, was little like Sten. Sten would never have run away from the darkspawn or made a deal with them, and the idea that darkspawn had gold to give made her very uncomfortable. 

“Why would a Qunari work with the darkspawn?” she asked cautiously, and for the question she earned his wrath.

“The Qun,” he spat, “is a lie! I am Tal-Vashoth! Outcast! My life is my _own_.” She blinked, then carefully pursed her lips, nodding. Sten had spoken of the Tal-Vashoth, those who refused to conform. In that moment, she was just glad that this man had made it alive.

“I am sorry. I have not had much experience with…” she struggled a moment for the word, then settled on a diplomatic alternative, “your people.” He gave her a dark glare.

“I do not help the darkspawn,” he told her bitterly. “I help myself.” Eideann nodded, then glanced back towards the doors where Nathaniel had appeared with Oghren and Keenan and the wheelbarrow. She considered him, then drew a breath.

“Look. We need your help. And I can promise you a better deal than the darkspawn are likely to give you, with far less chance of corruption.” He considered her with pinprick eyes, then sighed and looked away. 

“Very well. I can see you are in a bit of trouble and I am not heartless.” Eideann smiled a little and motioned to the wheelbarrow.

“Our fellow here is injured. Beyond those doors behind you, I expect to find more darkspawn. We cannot protect him in that fight, but I will not abandon him.” She met the Qunari’s eyes. “Please look after him until we return?” 

“And in exchange?” the Qunari asked. She nodded.

“I intend to collapse the mines, seal the entrance to the Deep Roads here so none of the darkspawn can threaten the trade routes through the Wending Wood again. Any…business…you have down here will cease, but trade will flow again above, and I find my Keep in need of certain…mercantile assistance?” The man mused over it a moment, then put out his hand, and she climbed the last of the steps to take it. It dwarfed her own as she clasped it tight. 

“I am Armaas,” he told her simply. “I accept your offer.” She smiled.

“Queen Eideann Cousland of Ferelden. Thank you, ser, for your assistance.” She released his hand and then took the steps down, Armaas tailing her, until she reached Keenan.

“Commander, you must leave me. You cannot think I can escape this place – !” 

“Keenan, shut up. That’s an order,” Eideann said simply, and he fell silent, brows knitted, staring at her. She glanced to the others. “Armaas will stay here with Keenan. The rest of us proceed. I warn you now: that room ahead is teeming with darkspawn. I cannot feel them, but Maker, I can smell them, and that is probably where they have been holed up all this time.” She crouched down beside the wheelbarrow. “Somewhere in that chamber, I expect to find a few things. The First is that emissary. If we see him, try and get to him first. He is a bigger danger than I can even comprehend at the moment. The second is the darkspawn with the maul that Keenan mentioned. He’ll come straight for our line. Oghren, meet him if you can. You’re the only one with the strength to repel him if he comes directly for us, otherwise speed will win that fight.” Oghren gave her a quiet nod, his eyes dark and severe. He smelled of lichen ale again from the last of his recovered flask. “I also expect to find that blighted Grey Warden, Utha. I will handle her, if need be.” At Velanna’s sharp look, Eideann glanced to her. “Seranni may also be there,” she confirmed. “If so, be careful.” She sighed. “Whatever leads these creatures, at least tactically, is something called The Seeker.”

“It is a darkspawn,” Armaas said simply, “the one with the maul, like you said. One of the tall ones.” Eideann grimaced.

“Wonderful. I expect it to be much the same to the darkspawn that invaded the Vigil,” she told Oghren. “It will talk and think, just as the others. It was the one who decided to trick Velanna and her clan. It was smart enough to do it. Do not let down your guard. All else are handled in the usual manner. Hit them with sharp things until they die.” She looked about. “Questions?”

“How will we collapse the tunnels?” Nathaniel asked quietly. “Assuming, of course, we do not chase the darkspawn down into them?” Eideann glanced to Velanna.

“I was hoping you may have some ideas, Velanna.” The elf pursed her lips and sighed.

“You wish me to destroy this temple, an ancient site of my people?” she said darkly. Eideann shook her head.

“No, I wish you to destroy whatever tunnel we find that leads into the Deep Roads, so that the darkspawn cannot live in this ancient site of your people any longer.” Velanna’s eyes were full of anger, an old and smoldering sort instead of the usual quick temper she apparently possessed. She sniffed and then looked away.

“So be it,” she finally mumbled.

“Good.” Eideann rose to her full height, wishing she had her other blade. She glanced to Nathaniel who was clearly wishing he too had his bow. “Then we are ready.” 

“Wait,” Armaas said simply. “I have healing poultices and lyrium potions smuggled from the trade caravans.” Eideann glanced to him and then watched as he climbed the steps again and dug through his boxes of supplies. When he brought back was like a blessing from the Maker himself. Eideann used the poultices on her arm and Nathaniel’s, and the rest she left with Keenan who tucked them down inside near the ore. The lyrium potions she gave to Velanna who promptly downed one then and there before tucking the rest inside her belt. The elf looked immediately rejuvenated. Eideann considered a moment, then narrowed her eyes, turning back to Armaas.

“I don’t suppose,” she said quietly, “you’ve seen a silverite sword, a whitewood bow, and a bronze pendant with a lyrium clock?” The Qunari sighed, and fixed her with a flat look.

“I suppose they are yours?” he said unamused. Eideann gave him a small smile, and a nod, and the Qunari grimaced. “Your trade arrangement at this keep had best be very lucrative,” he mumbled, but climbed the steps again to his crates. Eideann followed, and Nathaniel did to.

When she saw it she almost cried. The Qunari drew Duty from the first of his crates, and then behind it Nathaniel’s bow. Eideann sheathed Duncan’s dagger and then took her sword reverently, her hand shaking a little. Armaas watched her warily, uncertain what he had given up. Eideann breathed a deep breath and then thanked him quietly as she fastened the sheath to her armor again. The man then moved to draw forth the lyrium clock from about his neck. 

“I was uncertain how it worked,” he said. “I have never seen such a thing.” She took it carefully, showing him how the hourglass spun and the edge moved to mark the days, and then wound it back about her own neck and tucked it within her tunic.

“When we return to the Vigil,” she promised him sincerely, “I will see you rewarded for keeping these things safe.” She ignored the part where he wanted to sell them. He was after all a merchant. She was just glad to have them back.

“Now,” Nathaniel said beside her, nocking an arrow to his family’s bow, “we are ready.” Eideann’s eyes flashed and she nodded, and then she reached for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> Keenan's original dialogue is that he wants to be left behind to die, please give his wedding ring to his wife. While that might be all well and good for him, there's a shortage of Wardens, and Eideann is the sort of person who would definitely say "fuck that" and drag him along. So we're a little AU here, simply because there is no reason to leave a man to that fate simply because he cannot be bothered trying to escape. 
> 
> The original game mentions The Seeker as the mastermind behind the Wending Wood plots, but we never actually meet him. Instead, the final battle for the ruins is a couple of dragons. You don't even face the Architect. This seems really silly, since it's obvious he has these people at his disposal, and also it seems strange he would stand and watch when random dragons attack you instead of escaping himself. Therefore, that too is altered, hopefully for the better. 
> 
> I'm presuming Eideann can sense the ghouls because they are infected with the Blight itself, and therefore still held by its compulsion, whereas the awakened darkspawn disciples are not (despite still being Blighted). It's possible for these blighted darkspawn to infect others with the taint, but I imagine this infection takes the usual form, so ghouls can still be sensed/heard in the hive mind, otherwise the ghouls themselves would probably not serve the darkspawn. As for the disciples and the Mother and her Children, the Children do not hear the Blight (despite being tainted) and therefore actually apparently eat other darkspawn. This means that the Mother, for whatever reason, gives birth to darkspawn separated from the Song. They are bound to her by loyalty instead. The Architect appears to have done his original experiments on the Mother, and the disciples are the result of that, but these disciples still spread the regular Blight that Eideann/etc. can sense.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann and her company confront the emissary, Utha, Seranni, and the Seeker; Eideann learns about the darkspawn Awakening and Velanna convinced Eideann to let her undergo the Joining; Eideann and company escape the Silverite Mines and regroup with Anders; there is time for reflection in the aftermath of their battles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: violence, gore (battle and medical)
> 
> Comments always welcome.

The floor was cracked and broken. The ceiling towered high overhead, lit with lamps that glowed with green flame. Eideann spared only a moment to consider where her enemies were, following the Blightsong’s call until her eyes met the Grey Warden Utha’s in the dim darkness of the balconies. And there it was, the broken tunnel, right behind them, the way the darkspawn had come to the ruins from the Deep Roads. Eideann narrowed her gaze.

The emissary stood beside Utha, watching her with it’s mask-eyes. And beside him was Seranni, corruption already tainting her cheeks. Behind her, Velanna let out a strangled cry.

“Wait,” Eideann said, silencing the elf woman with a single word. Her gaze slipped from the emissary then, who was considering her curiously. And it fell instead on the rest of the chamber. 

The darkspawn called the Seeker stood at the head of a score of darkspawn. Eideann drew a breath, holding her ground, and the Seeker sneered in her direction.

“Come on, then,” she said quietly, her voice carrying across the room only because it was so still. “Let’s dance.” She shifted into a better stance, blades arcing in her hands, runes carving trails of glowing light through the air as she spun them into a better position. “Nate, archers up on the left and right. Oghren, keep those bastards off me. The Seeker is mine this time. Velanna, fire. Lots of fire. Make those monsters burn.” 

Trusting her orders would be followed, she charged forward, and the darkspawn charged to meet her.

It was strange, too strange, to be clashing with darkspawn she could not sense again. She hated the way it made her feel blind. She could tell before if they lived or died, could tell if one was circling behind her. And yet, in hindsight, that sense could easily become a crutch. 

She slipped in under the Seeker’s guard as it roared and charged for her.

“Kill them,” the beast roared, and Eideann circled about as his maul came slamming down, splitting the stone and cracking the tiles. 

She skidded across the floor, out of the way, twisting and rising and slipping out of range again. It was quick. Too quick. She narrowed her eyes and circled with it, and it did the same.

That was unsettling. Darkspawn did not toy with people the way warriors did. Darkspawn went in for the kill. The beast, warpaint smeared to match the emissary’s mask, grinned.

“Surprised?” it hissed, and she shook her head.

“Disgusted,” she replied, and charged. His maul came round, she ducked, then dove, weaving in and out of its guard. Her blades had to come up to repel an attack from another of the darkspawn at the same time, and she barely had the chance to escape. She kicked the underling to the flagstone and speared it through the jaw before tearing Duty free, twisting it in her hands, and spiraling back to face the Seeker again. 

“He is wanting you alive,” the Seeker said. “But you are meddlesome.”

“Good,” she spat, meeting the handle of his maul with her blades and catching it before he could swing again. Her other came around, but he caught the blade in his gauntleted hand and twisted it away from its original trajectory. She spun clear as his maul slipped free, dancing away and turning about again. She was slow from her injured arm. Even a poultice could not fix that. 

She felt every ache and pain, every wound whether it be old or new. Her leg was throbbing from the effort of dancing about the creature, namely the scar across her thigh where the Silent Sister in the dwarven Glory Proving had cut deep with her blade. She still had the scratches, now scabbed over, across her cheek from the battle at the Vigil. Her mind ached too, with weariness and desperation.

 _If you’re desperate, you will die,_ she told herself, and focused, determined to survive, to win. She backed away, circling through the ranks of darkspawn, battering a few back and gutting two as she put some space between herself and the Seeker. 

He would not charge her. He had more sense. Unlike his brethren in the Deep Roads, the ones she could sense, he had some ability to strategize. He knew by now her advantage was speed, and if he charged her, he would lose his brute force. If it came at her, it lost the ability to change direction at the speed it needed to counter her. The more distance she had, the safer she was for the moment.

She heard a darkspawn beside her, and whirled about to catch it before she could be taken down, but an arrow took it through the eye. And then a ball of flame erupted in the center of the darkspawn ranks.

“That’s half dead, Commander!” Oghren called. Eideann’s gaze flickered for a moment to the emissary, and a solid cold feeling boiled inside her. It could do anything, anything at all. But it just stood, watching, seemingly considering the outcome, like they were experiments to unfold for his pleasure. She gritted her teeth and launched herself back into the fight.

She would have gone back to back with Oghren, except with his battleaxe he needed more room. She missed having Alistair at her back, though Nathaniel’s arrows seemed to be serving as cover enough. He had brought down the archers quickly, it seemed, and was slowly circling the bulk of the battle to aim where he was needed. Velanna’s Dalish magic burst, tree limbs exploding through the stone floor and twisting up, through darkspawn, skewering them like the totems they themselves built. Eideann cut another down and then turned back to the Seeker, who was closing in on her again.

And then Oghren was there, meeting his maul with his battleaxe, the handles clashing as they battled a battle of wills. For a moment it seemed that the Seeker might win, but then they grappled back.

“Commander! Stop staring, you rock-licking nug-humper! Get yer ass over here!” Oghren roared, braided mustachios flying as he tore away and then met the beast again.

Eideann did not wait for another warning. She cut her way through the last two of the Seeker’s darkspawn vanguard and vaulted through the space inside his guard, whirling about and then stabbing her blades through the creature’s head. It did not die, it turned, swinging its maul, and Oghren dragged her down, Duty flying from her hand, still caught in the creature’s head as toxic blood splattered the ground. And then Eideann shook her head, ripped Duncan’s dagger from her belt, and threw it as hard as she could underhand. It slammed home through the creature’s eye, and then Eideann was up, roaring a battlecry. 

“Die!” she screamed, and lopped off its head, both hands on the hilt of King’s Justice. The Seeker fell, headless now, into a heap before her. Eideann twisted to its fallen head, stopped from rolling by her blades, and kicked it free of her knife and then Duty, sheathing the first and then spinning the other home into her hand. And then, at last, she turned.

The emissary was watching them. The Grey Warden Utha carefully shifted and reached for the sword at her back in silence. The emissary put out a hand to quiet her.

And then he pulled her back towards the Deep Roads tunnel.

There was no way to get to the balcony from where they stood. They would have to climb to get there, unless Velanna could use some sort of spell. 

Seranni, the Dalish elf, Velanna’s sister, still stood there though. She considered them with quiet eyes thick with the silver film of the taint. And then she raised her chin.

“I am glad to see that you survived, Velanna,” she finally said. 

“Seranni! Thank Mythal you are still here!” She grimaced. “What…what has that monster done to you?! Why are you with him?!” Her sister shook her head.

“The Architect is kind to me,” she called down softly, looking away, “and tender, and he has told me his plans.” Eideann stared, unable to do anything, absorbing what information she could. The Architect? This thing had a plan then? “The darkspawn,” Seranni said sharply, “are just like us.” Velanna took a step forward, shaking her head. “The Architect has freed them,” Seranni said, “and they search for a place in this world, just like the Dalish are searching. “Everything he has done, he has done to _help his people_.” She looked back, meeting Velanna’s eyes. “You can respect that, can’t you, sister?” Eideann took a step forward alongside Velanna who was staring, disbelieving, at what Seranni was telling her.

“Velanna…” Eideann said quietly. Seranni’s eyes slipped to her from the balcony, narrowing. Eideann raised her chin. “The darkspawn are monsters,” she said simply.

“That is no longer true!” Seranni spat. 

“Seranni, they killed our friends, and so many others,” Velanna said quietly. Her voice carried to her sister, who glanced back. “Don’t you remember?” Seranni nodded.

“I do,” she said simply. “And this is why I must help them. They are like children, come into the world with no understanding of what is good and fair.” Her eyes slipped to Eideann again, anger there. Eideann felt the Blightsong humming to her and forced herself to look, to stand still, to feel it. “They have a bestial nature,” Seranni admitted, “but I’ve seen them overcome it. They just need to be shown how.” Eideann shook her head, giving a mirthless grin and then looking to Velanna.

“Your sister has picked the wrong side,” Eideann said quietly. There was the hum of Nathaniel’s bowstring as he drew it back quietly behind them. Seranni shook her head. 

“No,” she said fiercely. 

“Nate…” Seranni turned away, stepping back away from the balcony edge. 

“You will see as I have seen,” she said simply, then disappeared within. Velanna panicked, tearing away from Eideann, shaking her head.

“Seranni! No! Don’t go!” she called, running forward, weaving some magic. Seranni did not reappear. Velanna tried to go faster, weaving steps of tree roots to reach the balcony, but before she could get to the top, the emissary turned and countered her spell with a wave of its hand.

Velanna went careening to the floor, slapping into the stone with a sharp cry of pain. Nathaniel drew back his bow and fired a shot, but this too was repelled. Eideann stood, staring, and the emissary fixed her with a look.

And then he rose into the air, floating as the emissaries did, and magic swirled about him, a type she had never before seen. It sang of the Blight, so twisted and dark she took a step forward, drawn to it, before she could stop herself. And then it erupted, swallowing the passage in darkness, and the earth shifted. The tunnel filled with dust, spewing rubble out onto the balcony. And when it finally cleared the Blightsong was gone, and the rubble had blocked their way. Not just enough to stop them. No. Enough to keep them busy for ages removing it, should they wish to. Eideann just shook her head, and sheathed her blades. She had needed to seal the entrance anyway.

Velanna looked up from where she lay on the floor, desperate eyes tracing the balcony for any sign of a way through. And then she hauled herself up onto her feet, staring blankly at the entrance.

“Seranni…” she murmured. Eideann closed her eyes a moment, then carefully crossed towards her, limping a little from old wounds and new. 

“No,” Velanna murmured. “No!” She turned as Eideann approached, reaching for her, gripping her gauntlets in tight, thin fingers. “Why is she with that monster?! I must get to her!” Eideann met her gaze, weary. 

“They’re darkspawn,” Oghren spat, crossing to join them. He was bleeding from a headwound that was pouring through his thick brows and into one eye. Eideann winced at the sight of it. He grimaced, spitting some blood from his mouth, and shaking his head. “They’ll head underground to the Deep Roads, like they always do.” His eyes tracked to Eideann who sighed, nodding. Nathaniel was with them now as well, sliding his arrow into his quiver. He was running a little low.

“The home of the Children of Stone,” Velanna mused, looking away and letting her hands slide from Eideann’s gauntlets. She turned back to face the balcony, considering a moment, then glanced back to Eideann. “They say Wardens can sense darkspawn, even deep beneath the ground!” she declared, eyes narrow and cold. “I would join the Grey Wardens! Give me the ability to hunt down these monsters in the deep!” Eideann drew a breath, wiping her brow with the back of her gauntlet and grimacing with a small shake of head. She turned away, crossed her arms, and paced across the floor. Velanna followed her, determined. Eideann ignored her while she thought. When had thinking become so difficult?

“It’s not so simple,” she finally said. “These darkspawn…I cannot sense them either. They’ve done…something…I don’t even know. A Grey Warden has obligations, and there is a cost.”

“I shall pay it!” Velanna insisted.

“The Joining itself could kill you,” Eideann replied. “And if it does not kill you now, it could easily kill you later. Sooner or later, that sensing the darkspawn becomes hearing the Blight calling your name. This is bigger than finding your sister.” The elf would not be assuaged. She glared.

“You do not wish me to join?!” she insisted.

“You murdered entire caravans because you thought they had your sister!” Eideann declared. “Grey Wardens protect! Grey Wardens defend! You have yet to prove to me that you can do that!” The Keeper glared at her, stared her down. And then she gritted her teeth.

“I will serve,” she said. “I was the First of my Clan, one day to be Keeper, to protect and defend. I know now that I was wrong. And I have followed you down here, have I not?” she finally said curtly, but her voice was a little quieter now. Eideann fixed her with a flat look, then sighed. The elf sniffed. “I am not afraid of death,” she said fiercely. “I will pledge myself to you in exchange for the powers your order can grant.” Eideann turned away, throwing up her hands.

“Fine, but I will hold you to those words.” The elf’s eyes narrowed, and she gave a single nod.

“Ma serannas,” Velanna said softly. “Shall we go then? I’ve had enough of this place, and we have yet to help your…friend out of here.” Eideann sighed, crossing the hall beneath the balcony and pushing open the doors that lay beyond. It led into a tunnel, which was only a short distance from the original mine shaft. 

She considered it a moment, then finally looked to Velanna.

“Can you lift him up the steps and then up here?” she asked quietly. “The wheelbarrow and Keenan?” Velanna looked hesitant, and then finally nodded.

“But I only have enough lyrium left to do that much,” she said simply. “Everyone else will need to walk up the steps. I cannot manage much more now.” Eideann nodded, then turned back to the large vaulted-ceiling chamber and the stairs where Armaas kept his wares. 

Keenan was watching them with a wary gaze, like he did not know what to make of it all, as they approached, covered in blood and gore, walking wounded as they were. Eideann gave him the barest overview of the plan before nodding to Velanna, whose roots emerged from the stone and wound their way up the steps. Oghren and Armaas together pushed the wheelbarrow up the ramp she had made. Keenan winced and bumped along the whole way, grimacing against his own pain. Maker, how long had they been down in those tunnels? She honestly had no idea.

She thought of her instructions to Anders. If it had been more than three days, he would be gone. She watched Armaas wheeling along Keenan as Oghren wound some bandages about his head to stop the blood from blinding his eye. She hoped it had not been three days. If they made it out of the mine they would be lucky. They could not make it much farther. If Anders was gone, she did not know what they would do.

The lights they had lit had gone out, the oil long since burned away in the mine tunnels, so they walked in near darkness, following the light of a small orb of flame in Velanna’s hand. Eideann stared at the back of the woman’s head, but she had no words to say to someone who had lost everything in one moment and reacted by slaughtering innocents in vengeance. She still was not certain it was a good idea to have her undergoing the Joining. But she needed people, and Velanna had volunteered, and she had given her word to follow her in exchange for the gifts. If Eideann had no intention of holding Anders to the task of being a Grey Warden, she could not hold Velanna to a different standard. And there was no guarantee the woman would even survive.

Then there was the fact that it was not abnormal to recruit from prisons and the executioners block among the ranks of criminals for new Wardens. Either Velanna survived and served, or died by Joining or by hangman’s noose. Eideann could hardly treat her leniently after the number of people she had murdered. She had been tricked, she deserved at least that chance, and she needed people. She could not afford to be picky.

At last they reached the bottom of the mine shaft where they had first descended. Eideann gazed at it quietly a moment, and Velanna paused. The fire flickered out in her hand, and they were plunged into the grey darkness, broken only by the light above. Soft rain trickled down into the mine from beneath the cover of the old tower roof. Eideann grimaced, then nodded, and Velanna brought both hands together to weave her spell.

“Wait! What are you - !” Keenan gave a cry of alarm as Velanna’s roots twisted up beneath his wheelbarrow, hauling him up towards the entrance. Eideann began the slow climb to the top of the chamber along the rotted wooden steps, careful not to fall or knock any loose, feeling the sharp ache of her old injuries and new ones protesting against further climbing.

And then she froze, halfway up, peering up. She felt it. A flicker of something. Only a flicker. She drew a deep breath, waiting, holding up her hand to stop the others, then beckoned for Nathaniel behind her. 

“Something blighted atop the stairs,” she breathed as he drew up alongside her, nocking an arrow and drawing it back.

And then suddenly a head and shoulders popped over the side of the mine shaft and Nathaniel gave a low curse, lowering his bow quickly.

“Anders! Maker’s blood, we almost killed you!” he said archly. Anders gave him a smirk, then nodded to Keenan and the wheelbarrow atop the tree.

“You’d never hurt me. I’m too pretty,” he grinned. “I see you found a few friends.” And then his smile faded as he saw the state they were all in. “Maker’s blood, what happened to you?!” Eideann sighed, leaning into the rock wall of the mine shaft, and closed her eyes a moment.

“It is a long tale. Throw us a rope and we’ll tell you the whole thing.” 

When the rope came slapping onto the rotted wood, she finally allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief.

***

With the rainy drizzle, it was impossible to cook. They ate the last of their salted meat and huddled under the awning of their makeshift tent in blankets raided from their own supplies and the remnants of the Dalish camp. Velanna was not speaking to anyone, sitting with her head hung off to one side, peering at the remains of the Dalish camp across the way. 

Armaas was standing with their wheelbarrow of ore, eyes cool, not caring if he was being rained on or not. Eideann was uncertain, but it appeared he was weighing up the worth of the stuff. She had no intention of giving it to him. That was something she needed for her own people. She grimaced, bending over her map and carefully penciling in where they had been so the men she sent along could find the granite quarry and the watchtower if need be. She marked the Silverite Mine, but only after a moment.

Everything hurt, still, even now. She chewed carefully on a strip of the dried meat, tasting the salt, and then shifted, her arms holding her Warden cloak tight about her shoulders where she sat. Her stomach was aching again, but she tried not to think of it. And her arm…Maker, it stung like fire. 

“Let me see.” She looked up sharply to catch sight of Anders hovering over her, hood up against the rain, giving her a pointed look.

“Look after Keenan. He needs more help than – “

“Let me see.” Eideann blinked, then lowered her head and then held out her arm, letting it slip from under her cloak. Anders gave a soft wince and a chuckle, crouching beside her, and took hold of her wrist to consider the wound.

“What was that creature even doing to you?” he said with an incredulous look. Eideann shook her head, sighing.

“They called him the Architect apparently. Those darkspawn…they follow him, sometimes. He…freed them? That’s what Velanna’s sister claimed. If he freed them its from the Song, not the Blight itself. They still corrupt mortals.” She sighed, then winced, pulling a little, as he poured a shock of cold healing magic into her arm. She watched the flesh knit back together, leaving a thin, jagged scar.

“You’ll all match,” Anders said cheerily, but a look of concern was on his face. “What does it mean to free them from the Song?” Eideann grimaced, meeting his eyes.

“It means they won’t hunt out more Archdemons. They have…free will? But it does not change what they are, it just makes them more unpredictable. I don’t like unpredictable enemies.” Anders considered it a moment, then shifted, moving to stand in front of her. “I don’t know who this Architect even is, or how he came to be, or how he even ended up doing experiments. It makes me very nervous.”

“I’m sure you’ll work it out,” he said simply, reaching then between her arms. She stared, leaning back.

“What are you…?” He gave her a flat look.

“Let me make sure you’re alright,” he said softly, quietly, just for them to hear. She met his eyes, the warm and quiet brown, and then carefully unfolded her arms. His hands pressed against her stomach, and she felt a different sort of healing then, warm and gentle and careful. She grimaced, looking away, letting him work. And then he sat back beside her atop his Warden cloak, clasping his wrist in his hand and leaning his elbows on his knees before him to give her a simple look.

“Any pains?”

“Anders, I always feel pain. I’m a Grey Warden who not too long ago killed an Archdemon. My arm aches right now where I broke it in that fight. My thigh has a scar like you wouldn’t believe from a dwarven Silent Sister. I am hyperaware of anything with even an ounce of the taint right now, which is half of you here, and that’s making my head hurt.” She sighed, and he raised an eyebrow. 

“You know what I meant.” She looked away.

“Only my heart,” she muttered. He reached for her hand then, holding it lightly, and she looked up. “Look, we’ve known each other…what? A few days now? That’s all. We're not exactly...you can't expect me to just...answer all your questions.” He glanced at their hands, then nodded, giving it a squeeze.

“I just thought you might need a friend, Your Most Honorable and Esteemed Majesty Hero of Ferelden.” She snorted and looked away, but her fingers curled around his.

“I…I thought I was going to die down there. I honestly thought after everything that I was going to die.” She bowed her head, pressing her forehead to her knees as she brought them up close to her chest. “I…all I could think was all the horrible things I’ve done, I’ve justified – ” Anders considered her, then carefully leaned forward to lay a hand on her head and let a wash of healing magic settle over her. This time it was the warm sort again, and she felt it soothe the headaches away, and even the tension in her abdomen. She looked up and he pushed himself up, carefully letting go of her hand.

“You’re allowed to have regrets, and you’re allowed to be weak,” he told her. “And when you’re hurting, you cannot hide it from a doctor.” He gave her a knowing little smile, then turned away, crossing to Keenan to do more work on his crippled legs. Eideann watched him a moment, then saw Nathaniel staring at her with his grey Coastland eyes. He blinked, looking away, and then she sighed. When next she looked up, he was coming to join her, huddled in his own Warden cloak, and he refused to look at her. He sank down, bow in his hands, and hunched himself up against the rain.

“I…wanted to thank you,” Eideann finally said softly. “Back in that cell…when you told me to get up…I needed that.”

“I know,” he told her, still avoiding her eyes. She did not have anything else to say then, so she just turned her own gaze away. They sat a little in silence, and then he finally sighed. “Look, Cousland, I can’t like you, but I do respect you. Whatever else there is…there’s that.” He hunched his shoulders a little. “You know, I’m actually not the first Howe to be a Grey Warden?” She looked over, a little surprised, and he gave a little half-smile, shaking his head. “I’m following in my grandfather’s footsteps. His name was Padric Howe.” He looked to her. “He joined the Order before it returned to Ferelden, just after the war. Never contacted his family again.” A shadow of something flickered over him, and he looked away again. “Just vanished,” he murmured. “Now that I know about the Joining…I think he died.” Eideann closed her eyes a moment, murmuring a soft prayer for the departed. And then she opened them again, and he was watching her with a strange look in his eyes. She shook her head.

“Many good men and women die in the Joining,” she told him. Mhairi. Daveth.

She had not thought about Daveth and Ser Jory in a very long time. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Nathaniel nodded.

“I know that now,” he told her quietly. “My father always said he was a horrible man for abandoning the family to join a pointless cause.” He nodded into the rain. “I grew up ashamed of my grandfather, but now I see his bravery. That will take some getting used to.” Eideann met his eyes then, Cousland blue on Howe steel, all dissembling banished.

“The only shame was your father’s,” she said softly, her voice low in the drizzle. He stared, chest rising and falling, and did not move, and neither did she. And then, finally, he let out the breath he was holding.

“My father often forgot that nobility has another meaning,” he finally said. “What is it your people say? A Cousland always does his duty first? More people should take that device to heart, I think.” He shook his head. “In that cell, I was doing my duty. And I needed you to do yours. And you did. For a moment, you were frightened and lost. And I do not like seeing you like that.” She blinked, and he looked to her, eyes cold. “You are the Warden-Commander and the Queen of Ferelden, are you not?” She nodded, and he eased a little. “I...just didn’t want you to forget it.” She sighed, looking back out to the Wending Wood, and then closed her eyes.

“I won’t,” she told him softly. “Though even Queens and Commanders can be weak sometimes.”

“But the Grey Wardens cannot be weak,” he told her softly. “When next you falter, remember that there is another here who knows what duty is and how to live by it. If you cannot find the strength, I shall lend you mine, Cousland.” And then he pushed himself up as well, eager to end it there, having probably said too much already. It was almost an apology, Maker forbid. She let a small smile play at her lips, mind and body still eased by Anders’s healing magic. 

She finished the last of the meat and then rose, crossing to Velanna, who was still huddled in the corner away from the others. At her approach, the elf made a face, then turned away. 

“Leave me be,” she said sharply.

“Come with me,” Eideann said simply. “I need your help.” The woman glared suspiciously, then sighed and rose with effort, weary from all the magic she had done that day. Eideann walked with her towards the Dalish encampment, all that remained of those who had followed her.

“I wanted to thank you for your help in the Silverite Mines, especially where it came to Keenan.” The elf did not look to her, lips pursed. “I also was wondering if we might, with your permission, use the landship in this camp to take the ore and Keenan and Armaas and yourself to the Vigil. We have no halla, but we do have horses, and the alternative is travelling on foot.” Eideann looked away. “We are out of food, and while we can certainly hunt, we cannot cook with this rain. I would rather we returned quickly, to see this business done. And I do not think you wish to linger here either.” 

“You wish to use Dalish aravels?” Velanna asked, sounding offended. Eideann gave her a flat look.

“Well I would have gone for one of the caravan wagons but you set them all on fire,” she said. “Help us or don’t. It is a request. But you cannot undergo the Joining until we return to the Vigil and if we cannot move everyone quickly, we’ll starve in the Wending Wood before that happens. It’s your decision. Make it.” Velanna gave her a dark look, then tore her gaze away.

“Fine,” she said at last after a long pause considering the tents. Her eyes fell on the cairns she had built off to the side of the hill and a flicker of sorrow passed through her. “Fine,” she repeated, voice harder, brittle, and then turned away. “I will help you to pack one in the morning. And with that she stalked off. Eideann stood in the center of it all, glancing about the filthy camp already starting to waste away into the earth and sky. How quickly the world swallowed up the traces of people.

But then she thought of the ruins that lay scattered and buried across Thedas and smiled slightly to herself.

 _We’re still hanging on,_ she thought. She turned away and went to Anders’s side where he was leaning over Keenan. The other man, peering down at his own crippled legs, was sweating, teeth gritted. But when he saw her approach, he met her gaze.

“Co…Commander…” She reached to take the man’s hand in her own, sinking to a seat under the awning and crossing her legs beneath her.

“I’m here. You’ll be fine,” she told him quietly. He shook his head, tears in his eyes, and whimpered.

“Hold him steady,” Anders said quietly, and Eideann leaned forward to press her palm against the front of Keenan’s breastplate, meeting his eyes. “Deep breath.” Keenan focused on her, terrified, and there was a sharp snapping noise, then another. Keenan screamed, tensing and then laying back and Eideann held him down a little, turning her face away. Another snap. Eideann looked to Anders a moment as Keenan broke into sobs. The healer met her gaze with a look of unease and pity. “A little more, and then we’re done for the day,” he said quietly, and Keenan’s fingernails dug into her hand as he grasped her hand as tight as he could, so tight she could not longer feel blood flowing. Eideann grimaced against that pain, letting him, and there was a final snap, Keenan crying out again, and then he settled back, tears spilling out. And his hand slowly released her own. Eideann wet her lips, and Anders sighed.

“That’s it for now,” he told them both, but Keenan was beside himself with agony. “There’s so much damage. I’m doing the best I can.”

“I know,” Eideann said quietly. Anders sighed, then shook his head and rose. Eideann watched him go, staying with the Warden they had saved.

“What…what was it like?” Keenan asked suddenly, drawing her attention back. There were tears in his eyes as he turned his face to her. “What was it like, fighting the Archdemon?” Eideann looked back to him, and her gaze was quiet and soft. Keenan was sniffling through snot and tears, shaking a little and looking very pale with pain. She reached to carefully brush his greasy hair out of his face and sighed.

“Like stepping into the Void itself,” she finally said quietly. “It was…massive. I thought we would all die. And the closer I came to it, the worse the Song was. Until there wasn’t anything else.” She sighed. “It…It was unlike anything I could have imagined.” Keenan looked up at the awning where the rain was quietly pattering on the canvas and sliding down the back. And then he gritted his teeth.

“I don’t want to die,” he told her. She nodded.

“You won’t. The darkspawn are dead and you are safe with us,” she said. He shook his head.

“One day…one day…we all go into the Deep Roads and never come back,” he murmured. “How long will I last with twisted legs? I’m useless to you now.” She shook her head, reaching to take his hand again and looking away.

“I need your help, Keenan,” she finally said. “I have been a Warden little more than a year. King Alistair has been a Warden a year and a half. And we are the veterans. There’s so much we don’t know. So much we can’t understand or never heard.” She grimaced. “I need people like you with experience, knowledge. And I need someone who understands the sacrifices Wardens all must make.” She looked back to him. “If you cannot fight in the Deep Roads, you will fight in the fortress. If I cannot use your sword-arm, arm me with knowledge instead.” He was considering her, uncertain. She wet her lips again. “For centuries we have battle the Blight, defended the world, but still we don’t even know what the Blight truly is, or where it comes from. We have only the Chantry tales, and I have seen too much to believe the Chantry has all the answers. We need to study and to learn, to find out what was lost.” He was watching her thoughtfully. “Help me? Help me find out what is happening here? Help me work out what in the Void this Architect emissary is?” Keenan met her eyes with his, quiet for several heartbeats.

And then at last he nodded.

 

“You saved my life, Commander. I owe you anything it is in my power to give.” She just gave his hand and squeeze and gave a soft sigh of relief.

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seranni: technically she gives most of her speech towards the end in Drake's Fall but I felt it fit in better here at the moment, so...a bit of creative license in rearranging it. 
> 
> Keenan: still not dead... deal with it. XD


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel contemplates his life; Eideann handles matters back at the Vigil; Eideann holds court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: none (for once)
> 
> Comments always welcome! :)

He could not really think, so he focused instead on regaining his breath after hauling as hard as he could to get the aravel in place. They had packed the stones inside, gathered what they could from the camp, and somehow convinced a few of the horses that being tethered to the aravel was a good idea. Eideann’s certainly didn’t like it, but Anders’ mount seemed placid enough for the job, and he had been riding his own since he was a boy. 

It was slow going, at least, slow enough, rolling along the bumpy trail northward. Anders, the Qunari merchant, and the Warden they had rescued were within the rolling aravel, the Qunari helping Anders change bandages. Everyone else was walking, Eideann in the lead. Her swords were at her back, glimmering with runes, but she had that knife of hers out and was whittling away at the knots of a walking stick. Nathaniel kept his bow in his hand, just in case, not trusting the forest nearly so much as she seemed to. Behind the Araval, looking as dour as ever, was the Dalish woman Velanna who for some reason was going to become a Grey Warden.

He did not know what he felt of that. It appeared Eideann would accept everyone. Maybe that was exactly it. He narrowed his gaze and considered her.

Oghren walked beside him, shaking a little. He had finished all his alcohol off in the Silverite Mines, and had since been fluctuating between irritable and pensive since the night before. Nathaniel kept one eye on him, just in case, and sighed.

His own arm was chafing and sore. Anders had healed it as best he could, as he had Eideann’s and Keenan’s, but it left a long scar that stretched almost from wrist to inner elbow. He pawed at it with irritation, wondering.

That creature, the Architect, was living under his lands, threatening his people, and for what? To…to free the darkspawn? It made no sense. He glowered at the back of Eideann’s head. It was like she refused to think on it at all.

And then he realized she _had_ been thinking on it. She had hardly spoken a word to anyone after retiring the night before. Her mood had been quietly contemplative and distant. He wondered if she had any more idea than he what the creature really was. He wondered if Keenan had any information.

He wondered what they were going to do.

He felt a bit of fear. He knew next to nothing about darkspawn, and this was an extraordinary case, it appeared. Anything he may have heard in legends or stories had already been discredited by his experiences thus far. He had only just met darkspawn and already they were strange. He grimaced and ran a hand along his grandfather’s bow.

Eideann Cousland had put a blade through his father’s heart, or something similar. He had never asked the specifics. He did not want to know. He wanted to hate. He did not want to justify that hatred.

He drew a slow breath, glaring at the back of her head like that would make things simple again. But they were not simple. She was there, in the middle of Amaranthine, doing her best to make things better for everyone, and she had to know it would be the death of her to try. She had to know he hated her, wanted nothing more to do with her, wanted to see her dead himself.

But did he?

He could barely remember those years before. Lots of fighting, lots of yelling, his mother’s tears, Delilah’s tears, Thomas unobtrusive and still while he rebelled against the madness. 

Had he not found peace in the Free Marches? Had he not decided a life far from his father was better? But he had an obligation, no a duty to defend his family’s honor. And Delilah…

He pushed the thought away. They would find her. They would. They had to. He needed to. He swallowed, and Oghren gave him a dark glare.

“Stop brooding so loud,” he grumbled and then staggered off a little towards Eideann Cousland, like she was going to think any quieter. There he was, the traitor in the middle of a band of mad mages and drunken dwarves and murderers. 

But…people were people. 

He missed Kirkwall, even Saemus who had followed him around everywhere by the end, awed with his archery and stories of Amaranthine. He wished he were back, that it were all just a dream.

And then he remembered the tears on Eideann’s face, the hatred she had succumbed to, and he thought again. He did respect her. Even if he was supposed to hate her. And that made her very difficult to hate after all.

He glanced back to the aravel just in time to catch Anders watching him with a wry look and a small smirk. He glared back and the mage just looked away, clearly having been caught staring. Nathaniel grimaced and then sighed, deciding it was better to ignore them all. But sooner or later he would have to face up to all of these different people, different feelings, different thoughts. 

Ugh. Even thinking about it made him irritated.

And then it began to rain again, splashing cold onto his face and seeping into his already damp cloak which he gave a low growl at in annoyance. 

And wasn’t that just wonderful? He went back to staring at the back of Eideann Cousland’s head.

***

The wooden outer walls of Amaranthine were rotting from the rain and the cold as they at last approached down the muddy road, tired and filthy. Eideann was limping again, her leg injury from the Glory Proving acting up and complaining for all the wet and damp and cold and work. She tried to hide it, keep it out of sight of the others, but that became too difficult.

At the gate a guard gave a shout and went running. Eideann did not pause, but she allowed herself to slow a little. A few moments later a group of guards led by Captain Garevel came up the road. The Captain drew alongside her, his gaze flickering a moment to her limp. She recalled his attention to her face with a grim look.

“We have much to discuss,” she told him, “but first Warden Keenan will need assistance into the Keep. Send for Varel, please, Captain. And Mistress Woolsey. I will meet them shortly.” He nodded. “How goes the Deep Roads excavations?” she asked. He motioned to a few of his soldiers, relaying her instructions, and then his eyes settled on her.

“We’re almost through. You were gone a long time. The passage is clear, but Voldrik has been rigging up a lever and pulley system to get down there. It’s a bit of a drop. Some of the tunnels were damaged in the explosions. However the darkspawn got up, I don’t know.

“Has anyone been down?” she asked sharply. He shook his head.

“No, Your Majesty. I thought it best to leave that to the more experienced.” She nodded, pulling a little on the reins of her horse as they passed under the arched gate and then let Samuel’s stableboy take hold of them and lead the horse away. Eideann paused then, closing her eyes a moment, huddled in her cloak.

“Fine,” she said quietly. “I need a word with Voldrik and also with that smith Wade.” She glanced to him, eyes cool, then nodded and glanced back to Nathaniel Howe. “Can you please see to Velanna?” she asked. He had lived in the castle after all. He knew where everything was. He gave a nod, and she glanced to Armaas. “This is Captain Garevel,” she told the Qunari or…Tal-Vashoth…whatever he wished to be called. “He will be staying with you until my financial advisor arrives and we can work out accomodations and an agreeable business arrangement.” Armaas nodded. “Oghren.” The dwarf glanced to her with weary, red-rimmed eyes. He needed a drink, she could see, and she held back the wince at the look on his face. “Come with me?” He ducked his head but crossed to join her with a sour look. 

Eideann went first to Master Wade and his assistant, who were both bent over their table of various wares looking annoyed and fed up. At their approach, Master Wade threw up his hands, so Eideann turned her attention to the other man, who seemed possessed of infinite amounts of patience.

“Your Majesty,” he greeted her with a bow. “Wade has been hard at work – ” Eideann put up her hand, shaking her head. 

“I trust he’s doing good work. I won’t question the master craftsman,” she said simply with a tired little smile, “and I’m afraid I have many things to attend to very quickly.” Herren, the assistant, looked a little set aback as he blinked at her. But then he nodded.

“Understood, Your Majesty. What then might we do for you?” Eideann motioned back to the aravel.

“Inside that landship is a sizeable amount of silverite ore.” Herren’s eyes lit up.

“Wade, the Commander found a silverite deposit,” he called. The blacksmith looked up, a little sulky, but crossed to join them.

“Armor and weapons could be made with that,” he finally said flatly, like all the inspiration had gone out of his life. Eideann raised an eyebrow. He sighed. “I’ll just…get to it then…No one appreciates…” he grumbled, calling for some of Samuel’s people to help him unload the aravel’s ore. 

“Get the Vigil’s guards armored,” Eideann said. “They’re not Grey Wardens, but they’ll at least pack a punch if they’re in silverite.” Herren nodded and bowed again and Eideann left him to it then, emerging from the forge and crossing instead to the basements. She found Voldrik within, discussing the intricacies of some mechanism or other with Sergeant Maverlies. They broke off their conversation as she approached with Oghren, and turned to her, Voldrik giving her a quiet look. 

“We’ve finished the pulley system to get you to the bottom of the Deep Roads shaft,” he said simply, motioning back down the steps. “Whenever you’re ready, Commander.” 

“I’ll want to move on that quickly, but not yet,” she replied. “We’ve had a very trying day. But the Architect was in the Deep Roads now, with all his strange darkspawn forces, and she had no idea if he would emerge here or head somewhere else entirely. She shuddered. “Soon. Very soon. First thing tomorrow morning.” She glanced to Sergeat Maverlies. “I want a watch of at least fifteen men posted over that entrance, fully armed, at all times.” Sergeant Maverlies balked.

“Fifteen? For in here?” she asked. “May I ask why, Your Majesty?” 

“We learned some very troubling things in the Wending Wood,” Eideann replied. “Our enemy escaped us and slipped into the Deep Roads, but they will be back. We have not seen the last of them. If they hit us here at the Vigil, it will be through that tunnel, and I will not give them the chance. In the morning, assuming we are capable, I will lead a team myself into those tunnels to see what can be done. Until then…” Sergeant Maverlies gave a soldier’s bow, fist over her heart, and Eideann looked back to Voldrik. “I found your granite.” She dug her map from her armor, holding the paper out for her. “The Wending Wood itself is safe ground now. You’ll maybe encounter bandits or creatures, but no more darkspawn. Take a small guard with you to that quarry. I need those walls built.” He nodded, taking the map from her, and she sighed. “I’ll arrange payment for the walls as soon as I have had the chance to meet with Mistress Woolsey on the matter,” she added, catching the question in his eyes. And then she glanced to Oghren. “I need you to keep watch on this entrance tonight. Can you do that for me?” 

“If you give me something strong to drink, aye, Commander,” he grumbled, but it was a dark, severe sort of grumble not a real complaint. He knew as well as he what sorts of darkness lurked in the Deep Roads. He had the look of a veteran in his eyes.

“Keep them safe, Oghren,” she said. “Sleep this afternoon. I doubt they would attack us in the middle of the day.”

“Get me something strong,” he repeated, and then turned back towards the basement. She left him behind then. 

When she emerged into the grey skies and pitter pattering of rain in the courtyard, Seneschal Varel and Mistress Woolsey were standing with Armaas and Captain Garevel. Seneschal Varel, with Anders’ help, had arranged to have Keenan taken inside the Keep, so he was being carried by several men, strapped to a wooden plank to be easily carried up the steps. Eideann considered a moment, and then crossed to join her people.

“Your Majesty,” Varel said in greeting. Eideann nodded to him, but her attention went first to Mistress Woolsey.

“The Pilgrim’s Path is clear. Send word to Denerim that merchants now have safe passage,” she said simply. “The dangers to our caravans have been dealt with.” When she did not elaborate, she saw Mistress Woolsey’s eyes narrow ever so slightly. “This,” she said, motioning to the Tal-Vashoth, “is Armaas. He’ll be working out of the Vigil. I trust, Armaas, that we can come to an arrangement that is beneficial to both of us.” He gave a nod and a smile and then Eideann glanced to Mistress Woolsey. “I also need to discuss with you payments for the refurbishing of the Vigil. The amount we need to pay for labor is not currently sufficient.” Mistress Woolsey sighed, crossing her arms.

“Most of the masons and employees that Ser Glavornak has been hiring are out of work elsewhere and struggling for food and lodging,” she said. “With the restoration of trade and the chain reaction we can expect through Amaranthine, the costs of food and goods will decrease across the region.” She looked thoughtful. “I will see if we can think of alternate methods of payment aside from gold.” Eideann nodded thankfully, and Mistress Woolsey turned to Armaas, leading him away across the square. Eideann’s gaze fell on Varel then, and she gave him a weary look.

“Seneschal,” she said quietly, “I have another for the Joining I want to complete tonight.” 

“We have had petitions from the local nobility,” he said quietly, “and they will be expecting responses. I can manage them if you wish?” She shook her head. 

“I’ll see to it. They need a leader, and I have to prove to them I can do it.” She turned towards the Keep and he held out his arm. She considered him, a man with silver hair and crow’s feet about his eyes, and then carefully took it, feeling him strong. He made her think briefly of her father and she felt a flicker of sorrow. He helped her towards the steps, Eideann trying to control her limp as best she could for appearance’s sake. “Has there been word from Zevran?” she asked him as they began the climb. Varel shook his head.

“Not as yet, but he departed for the City of Amaranthine not long after you left for the Wood, Your Majesty.” He sighed. “There has also been correspondence from Denerim. It arrived two months ago. And one from Seneschal Dryden at the Peak.” The Vigil and the Peak. She was collecting fortresses, it seemed. She nodded.

“I’ll take them in my chambers,” she said quietly. “Are the petitioners here now?” Varel nodded, and Eideann sighed. “I will deal with them after a bath, Seneschal. The letters first.” He helped her through the barbican and then via the backways to her chambers where a few servants were bustling to fill a bath for her. She stripped off her armor, grimacing at the filth that coated it, and peeled herself out of her tunic. She thanked the servants, a pair of elven girls who smiled. One of them departed, her tunic and armor gathered in her arms to be cleaned. The other turned to her, giving a small bow.

“You…you saved my father in Denerim,” she said quietly. Eideann blinked, meeting her green eyes, and then sighed. “From the Tevinters…We came from Highever after…what happened…and then the slavers…” the girl said quietly, like she was not sure if Eideann even remembered doing that. Eideann just glanced to her, focusing on one part of that.

“You’re from Highever?” she asked. The girl gave a small nod, a sad smile. Eideann opened her mouth to speak, then wet her lips instead, letting out a slow breath. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help more. I glad I could at least help your father.” 

“He fought with you in Denerim, my Lady,” the girl said quietly. “He saw what you did for them in the Alienage. He…he said you were like Andraste herself with your glowing swords.” Eideann sighed, shaking her head.

“I’m a human like anyone else,” she said softly, then met the girl’s eyes. “Thank you, for all your help here. The place wouldn’t run without you.” The girl’s mouth twisted in a wide smile. Eideann smiled back. “What’s your name?” she asked, and the elven girl’s eyes went a little wide.

“Nesiara, my Lady,” the woman replied. Eideann smiled and nodded.

“A pleasure to meet you, Nesiara.” The elf nodded, blonde hair swaying a little in its neat braid, and then she dropped a small curtsy and backed out. Eideann sighed, then glanced to her bath, feeling shaky. 

It took her a moment to climb in. Her leg was still sore. But the moment she sank into the hot water that smelled faintly of honey, she immediately felt the heat warm her bones and soak into every inch of her flesh. She gave a loud sigh, bracing her arms on either side of the metal tub and leaning back with a groan of pleasure. And then she closed her eyes, remember Alistair.

The room still smelled faintly of his presence. She was glad. The servants had not bothered to wash the sheets since she had not slept in the bed more than a few days her entire trip. She knew the pillows would hold his scent, and a small smile played at her lips at the thought. Maker, she missed him.

There was a knock at the door and she carefully opened her eyes a crack.

“Enter,” she called, and the door swung open enough to admit what she could only assume was Seneschal Varel. She sat up in the water, looking up as he averted his gaze and crossed towards her.

“I’ve brought the papers you wished for,” he said, placing them on the stool by the bath, eyes kept away for modesty. She took them up, skimming through the documents, quite a sheaf of work really, and then sighed. 

“How is Keenan?” she asked him quietly, and Varel grimaced, crossing his arms, his back presented to her at a safe distance.

“Suffering, Commander, but alive, thanks to you.” He shook his head, and she could sense his concern even with his back to her. “He says you were captured by a darkspawn.” 

“It’s true,” she said after a moment.

“And is the darkspawn now dead, Your Majesty?” 

“No,” she said simply. “I am more confused than ever.” She turned her face away, shaking her head and gazing into the cold fireplace. The light from the windows was the twilight of rain so things still appeared dark. “The farther I dig into all of this, the deeper I find the mystery goes.” She sighed. “Regardless, I have nothing to wear to placate the nobility now.” The Seneschal glanced towards her window.

“Beg pardon, Your Majesty, but I believe that was delivered in your absence with the letters.” She glanced over her shoulder, twisting in the water, and caught sight of a trunk standing by the window she had not noticed before. And why would she have noticed it? It was her own. She paused, considering, then drew a breath. 

It was not the trunk Arl Eamon had given her. That she had brought from Soldier’s Peak and it stood at the end of her bed. This was older. It bore scratches from Angus. On the side was carved her name in scratches from the point of her dagger. The top had a dent in the wood and a warped metal brace that made a wave of nostalgia wash through her.

She looked back to the letters in her hand, and swallowed. 

“From Denerim?” she asked, confused. He nodded. 

“I believe it came with the letter from the King.” Eideann drew a quiet breath, then wet her lips.

“Leave me please awhile, Varel. Send that servant…Nesiara. She can help me dress.” It was best to have some people from home. She had never needed a lady’s maid before, but sometimes…well, sometimes she had to do things for posterity and with her joints aching as much as they did in that moment she doubted her own ability to reach to tie her gown. 

Seneschal Varel gave a bow, averting his eyes again when he turned, and then strode out. Eideann sighed and then slipped down to dump her hair into the water and scrub all the filth from it. The water after that was filthy, so she forced herself up quickly and reached to dry herself with the towel the servants had left. Wrapping it about her, she reached to open the first of her letters.

Her hands were shaking as she read the words. She had never seen his handwriting before, she suddenly realized. And it was his handwriting, not anyone else’s. No scribe had written those words. 

It was a novice’s handwriting as well, block letters and care on each stroke. It had taken effort. And time. Her lips parted as she read the words, slowly, letting them absorb into her heart.

_My Love,_

_Things are quiet here without you. Arl Eamon has been handling a lot of the day-to-day things, which gives me the time to think about you and miss you all the more. I hope things are going well. If you need me, you only need to ask. But then, you knew that right?_

_Tomorrow we’re leaving on a tour of the Bannorn. I wish you were coming with me. Instead I’m stuck with Arl Eamon and his political advice is never as good as yours. What ever will I do without you? I’m very nervous going out into the Bannorn as their King, but what can I do? You’d just laugh and tell me it was my duty._

_Angus is fine. He’s healing well. He ate an entire cheese yesterday. I promise I did not give it to him. I’m going to take him with me into the Bannorn. He even answers when I whistle now, like you showed me. He looks like he needs some fresh air and grass. He caught a rat the other day. I think he needs to chase bigger things. Like petulant Lords. Or druffalo._

_Mostly, I just miss you. My whole world feels empty when you’re not with me. I’m worried about you. The entire situation up there is strange. I expect to hear from you soon, and if I don’t then I’ll be sending an army north to fetch my lovely Queen back. Seriously, though, I have my ears open for news of anything going on up there._

_A letter came from Fergus yesterday too. I didn’t read it. I’ll send it along with the trunk he sent for you to Vigil’s Keep. I guess he thought you would be back by now? Or maybe he just forgot?_

_I left a surprise in your trunk. Remember me. I’ll think of you first thing in the morning and last thing at night every day until you’re back at my side._

_I miss you, love. Be kind to yourself._

_Alistair_

She carefully folded the paper again along the creases and held it a moment to her heart before turning to the other letter. Fergus’s letter. She recognized this handwriting easily. It was the spiky and rapid style that reminded her of lessons with Alduous. The paper even smelled slightly of home. It made her heartsick. She carefully broke the seal of the Teyrn of Highever in Cousland Blue wax and unfolded it.

_Sister,_

_I’m sending this to Denerim. I don’t know how long you’ll be in Amaranthine, and I don’t know if you’ll even have a use for these there. But you will back in Denerim, so at least there’s that. It’s just some of your old things, mainly gowns, and some of Mother’s jewels I thought you might want._

There were splatters on the page then, damp teardrops. Eideann swallowed. 

_I’ve been trying to put to rights the mess that bastard left behind. Some of the guardsmen and servants survived, and they’ve been helping, but Highever has its share of refugees like the rest of Ferelden. We’re making do. Alfstanna has been a great help. She has stayed with me this last week._

_I don’t know when it will feel like home again. I don’t want to stay, but I must. I won’t let our home become a ruin because of that man. We will rebuild. We have a duty to do that much._

_There’s a monument now, on the old hill behind the grounds, erected in honor of everyone we lost there. There wasn’t anyone left to give a proper service to, so we made do._

_I hope Amaranthine is not giving you too much trouble. I know it must be difficult to be in that bastard’s halls. If his vassals give you trouble, send word. I’ll turn the might of Highever on them and crush them in the name of King Alistair and Queen Eideann. You know I will._

_Stay strong, Little Sister. Never forget who you are._

_Teyrn Fergus Cousland of Highever_

She sighed, flipping through the rest of the letters, a few notes from local Banns and Lords about this or that dispute she would need to handle, and a message from Bann Eddelbrek thanking her for the soldiers she had sent. And then she found Levi Dryden’s message, short and sweet.

_Commander,_

_I received a message not long after your departure in reply to the missive you sent to Jader. I have enclosed them for your perusal._

_Seneschal Dryden_

She pulled forth the folded parchment of the letter he had sent, bearing the crest of the Grey Wardens. It was written in a gentle, careful hand, and not at all what she had expected. And it was the Warden-Commander herself. 

_Warden-Commander Cousland,_

_I commend you for your wherewithal in sending your letters to Jader. Your evaluation of potential routes into Orlais from the Deep Roads proved invaluable and coincided with what records we have kept. We were saddened to learn of the loss of Warden Riordan during the Battle of Denerim. We are glad, however, that you yourself survived, and hope that the Wardens sent from Jader to reinforce your garrison at Amaranthine prove valuable. I understand you were only recently Joined and therefore have not had the opportunity to learn a great many of the secrets of our order. Warden Kristoff leads those to be stationed in Amaranthine and his knowledge may prove invaluable._

_Thedas is in your debt. Should you need further assistance, Montsimmard will gladly respond._

_Warden-Commander Alisse Fontaine_

Eideann sighed, tossing the letter onto her bed with a grimace and shaking her head. The woman had not thought to respond earlier, but at least she was being vaguely helpful. The information about Warden Kristoff was interesting. She had not realized he was the one who had led those stationed at the Vigil. She had all the more incentive to find him now, and she respected a man who did his own work and got his hands bloody in the process instead of sending his own men. 

She turned then with the other letters to the trunk sent from Highever and carefully opened the lid, hearing it squeak on old hinges. Within, atop bundles of clothes and belongings was a rose, long-stemmed and blood red. Where he had found it, she would never know. She carefully reached it, setting the letters down, and then drew it forth, kneeling by the trunk. 

The door to her chambers opened quietly and she glanced back.

“My Lady.” Nesiara. Eideann looked back, trying to think, and then held up the rose a little.

“Water please? Something for this.” Nesiara smiled and nodded and slipped out again. She returned shortly afterward with a small blown glass vase filled with clean, clear water. Eideann carefully put the rose into the holder, and then Nesiara set it on the table beside her bed with a smile.

“You summoned me?” she asked, bobbing a curtsy, and Eideann shook her head.

“I don’t summon people,” she smiled, and then she glanced to her trunk. “I…may need help getting dressed.” It felt odd to say it. She had never had help before. 

Nesiara just gave her a quiet smile and a nod, and then joined her at the trunk. The two of them sat beside it, and Eideann carefully pulled her things free, one by one, looking them over, smelling the scents of home.

“They’re from Highever,” Nesiara said. “They smell like the Waking Sea.” Eideann just smiled and nodded, tears touching her eyes. Nesiara looked to her, but she said nothing. 

She had her green velvet dress out, which Nesiara took to air while Eideann brought forth a velvet-lined box that held her mother’s jewels. She recognized the box from years of standing with her mother watching her pull them free. Within she found the jewels of the Highever Teyrnas. Fergus should have kept them for his own family, she knew, but she could not reject such a gift. They should have been Oriana’s one day, not hers. She swallowed, hard, and carefully brushed her hands over the sparkling coronet set with diamonds and serpentstone and the matching earrings and necklace. She heard Nesiara give a soft gasp as she say them, mouth hanging open a little with wonder and awe.

“They’re…beautiful…” she gasped. Eideann nodded, opening the next box. This was the emeralds set in gold, her mother’s favorite. The golden pendant with the green emerald at its center glimmered in her hands. She held it up. 

“These,” she murmured, and Nesiara took the box with care. Eideann reached for the last box. There were her mother’s saltwater pearls. She brushed them carefully, then closed the box and sat back. 

The gowns remaining were her own, her blue silk trimmed in gold, her burgundy velvet and gold damask, her brown and blue fur-lined gown for frigid Highever winters. She sighed and pulled each out, considering it before reaching the bottom where her own jewelry, a few things from her childhood, her well-worn halla leather boots, and a small collection of her grandfather’s books lay amid her shifts.

Shifts. She had not worn one of those in…

She pulled on out, ivory satin, and carefully worked it over her head with sore arms, then rose, putting everything back into the trunk carefully and rising for her gown. Her hair was still wet, but she toweled it dry and then Nesiara held up her velvet gown. 

The last time she had worn it…the day Highever had fallen. She carefully worked into it and the elven woman helped her lace up the back. And then she reached for her mother’s gold and emerald jewels. 

The pendant was cold in her hands. Her mother had worn it so often, it felt strange to loop it over her neck. It hung between her breasts, almost to her stomach. She toyed with it carefully, quietly, then sank into a seat on her bed, considering. Nesiara gathered the coronet from the bed. It glistened in her hands. Eideann let the woman set it in her hair, and then she herself put on her earrings. And when she was done she felt more like a lady than she had ever, including when she and Alistair were crowned King and Queen. She looked to Nesiara, who smiled slightly.

“You look like your mother,” she said quietly, and that broke Eideann’s heart.

“Good,” she said softly. “I have nobility to deal with. Better Eleanor Cousland than the Warden today.” She stepped carefully into her halla leather boots, feeling them slide over her skin like silk. She had missed them. They felt strange to her feet now after so long. Then she tucked Duncan’s dagger into her right one, just in case, and dropped her skirts, brushing her hands over the velvet and taking a few deep breaths.

“Will that be all, Your Majesty?” Nesiara asked, bobbing a servant’s curtsy. 

“Eideann,” Eideann told her quietly. “In here, I am Eideann. And you may call me that.” Nesiara smiled and gave a small nod. Eideann drew another breath, then nodded before sweeping towards the door, heavy skirts billowing behind her. She was still limping from aching old wounds.

Nesiara vanished somewhere into the halls, leaving her to herself. Eideann did not mind. She intended to go alone to the throne room, but that was not what happened.

As she turned the corner, she almost ran straight into Nathaniel Howe, clad in black silks and silver and obsidian, and looking for all the world like he stepped out of a ballroom. He considered her quietly, eyes scanning her gown, then her pendant and her tiara, before he gave a mirthless smirk.

“Well…” he said softly. “If they didn’t know you were Queen before, Cousland…” She considered him warily a moment, uncertain if this was an offering or peace or another confrontation. And then he surprised her. He offered her his arm, cautiously, uncertain. She blinked, then considered him with a wry look.

“What’s this?” she asked quietly. He just glanced to his arm, then back up.

“Cousland, you’re limping if you’re not leaning on someone. And Queens don’t limp.” She pursed her lips a moment, then carefully reached, wrapping her arm through his.

“You’ll come with me then?” she asked frankly. “It will be uncomfortable and difficult.” 

“It always is,” he said in his quiet voice, a low soft hum that made her instantly calm. She smiled ever so slightly.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Don’t,” Nathaniel said. “I…thought about what you said, about putting on a united front?” Eideann glanced to him as he walked her down the corridor, her skirts brushing the flagstone. He was wearing shining boots, nugskin trousers tucked into the tops. He looked positively sinister. She almost laughed. He gave her a sidelong glance, grey eyes flat and for once a little warm. “You’re right. After those Mines…that…that creature…we need Amaranthine united. And they need to see it.” 

“Someone is trying to kill me. Probably several someones,” Eideann said simply.

“That is not unexpected,” he told her quietly. “If I hear anything, I shall let you know. I trust someone is dealing with the matter?” 

“Oh yes,” she said softly. “Someone definitely is.” She smiled, but said no more, leaving it there. He just turned back to the corridor.

When the entered the room together, she saw the interest in Varel’s face, and the open confusion on that of the nobility gathered in the hall. Nathaniel led her to the steps by the dais where the seat of Amaranthine stood, but she did not climb them. She did not want to sit there where Rendon Howe had sat. She did not want to be there at all. Seneschal Varel gave her a curious look as Nathaniel took up a position beside her, crossing his arms behind his back. And then he motioned to the nobility gathered.

“I’ve held it off as long as I could,” he told her quietly enough that they could not hear.

“Thank you,” Eideann said with a smile for the man. He gave her a gracious bow of head and stepped a little back. “Who is first?” 

“Queen Eideann Cousland-Theirin will first hear the matter of the crown against the sheepherder Alec.” Eideann raised an eyebrow as Captain Garevel brought forth a man in rough peasant’s clothes, looking like he had been through a few fights.

“I am the crown,” she said softly to Varel. He nodded. “How has this man wronged me then?” she sighed.

“On behalf of the crown,” Captain Garevel said quietly, “I submit that Alec stole two bushels of grain bound for the garrison in Amaranthine.” Eideann’s eyes fixed on the sheepherder, who was watching her with frightened, tired eyes. “When confronted by soldiers, he confessed. The punishment for theft from the crown is death by hanging,” Garevel said clearly into the quiet of the hall. Eideann pursed her lips, beckoning for the guards to release the man, who stood, shoulder’s hunched, under her gaze.

“What say you, Alec?” Varel said quietly. Alec looked up, brow creased.

“My sheep were slaughtered by the darkspawn,” he told her. He was speaking to her, not to Seneschal Varel. Good. That was better. “My fam…my family was starving.” His voice was the Coastland brogue. “I ask for mercy, Your Majesty.” Eideann considered him a moment, then shook her head, turning to Varel.

“The poor bugger,” he told her softly. “Had he stolen from anyone besides the crown he’d escape with a flogging.” Eideann drew a breath, then turned her gaze back on Alec.

“I am not without mercy,” she said quietly, for him and not for anyone else. “Ferelden has been wounded, and we must rebuild together. I need every good man, woman, and child to work towards a better future for our country. My forces are patrolling the roads and farmholds of Amaranthine in defense of the freeholders and villages. Join them. Take up the sword and fight for justice. Your life will be spared, and your family fed.” Alec’s eyes grew wide, and he was quiet a moment, disbelieving, and then let out a sigh, glancing between them like it was a trick and he was waiting for someone to take him away. Eideann glanced to Captain Garevel. “See to it he is armed and armored. And find a place at the Vigil for his family.” Captain Garevel gave her a soldier’s bow and Alec gave her a deep bow.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Eideann watched as he was led away by Captain Garevel, and then she turned her Cousland Blue eyes on the rest of the assembled crowd. 

“The next matter is of a civil nature,” Varel told her, beckoning for the next petitioners. A woman in heavy silks came forward, eyes dark. She was pretty, and slight, but her voice was commanding and dark. 

“I am Lady Liza Packton, rightful ruler of Teryn’s Down. The old Arl Rendon Howe made certain promises to me.” She reached inside the draping sleeves of her silk gown and drew forth a rolled up paper, holding it up. “I was given the right to the incomes of the Southern Bridge.” A man in Ferelden noble leathers trimmed with fur stepped forward, shaking his head.

“And what part did you take in Howe’s conspiracies, eh Liza, to get such a fruitful prize?” he said simply, giving her a dark look. “I am Ser Derran,” he said in a kinder voice to Eideann, making a formal bow, “and it is _my_ land she seeks, taken from me because I was one of the few nobles who stood against Teyrn Loghain.” Eideann wanted to groan and turn away. Maker, what a mess. 

She felt Nathaniel stiffen beside her and sighed. 

“Commander,” Captain Gareval said warily. Eideann had not even noticed his return. “Ser Derran is an ally, and Amaranthine has precious few who support you wholeheartedly.” 

“Amaranthine has grown thick with traitors then,” came the quiet voice beside her. It carried across the room in the way only Nathaniel could speak, and there was a stirring among the nobility. “Queen Eideann is the rightful ruler of all of Ferelden, including Amaranthine.” What it cost him to say that, she had no idea.

“Let me see the papers, Lady Liza,” Eideann said quietly, and Varel stepped forward to take them and unfurl them for her to skim over. She took them, and her eyes traced the words a moment, and then her gaze flickered up towards the two nobles standing before her. She carefully rolled up the parchment again, and then stepped down from her dais, coming to stand before the two of them and look them in the eyes.

“It’s legal,” she finally said, holding the papers out for Lady Liza to take. “I will not tear down all the agreements that were made, nor will I strip people of lands given simply because we were on different sides of the war.” Her eyes fell on Lady Liza. “I would encourage you to be careful, however, Lady Liza. I shall do you no more favors, and I shall be watching.” And if Ser Derran had been a popular lord and master to Teryn’s Down, he no doubt had supporters and Lady Liza would need to watch her back. She glanced to Ser Derran then, who looked crestfallen. “My friend, your support means a great deal to me, but Ferelden must be united, and I cannot become as Teryn Loghain if I wish to rule this kingdom united. If I took the lands from her to give to you, I would be no better than Loghain.” She sighed. “I will make this loss up to you, I swear it.” Ser Derran was watching her with despairing eyes. 

“My father built that bridge,” he told her, “but…very well.”

“Sometimes the things our fathers build are taken from us,” Eideann replied quietly. He met her gaze, then gave her a bow.

“I place my trust in you, My Queen,” he said softly, then turned away. Lady Liza curtsied deep enough that her bosom near swept the ground. 

“My Lady,” she said simply. Eideann just waved her away, then sighed. She turned back to Varel, careful to hide her limp, and gave him a look. Beside Varel, Nathaniel stood with arms crossed, watching her with a wary consideration.

“Who is next?” she asked quietly.

The doors burst open abruptly, and everyone started, turning to look. There, in the doorways, stood Zevran, tattoo twisting as he gave her a mirthless smirk.

“Ah, _bella_ ,” he called across the hall. “Just in time.” He shoved a man through the door, a knight in armor that was punctured and shredded to ribbons. “This man has murdered Ser Tamra.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to see the images of Eideann's wardrobe (because it's gorgeous), find the post [here](http://higheverrains.tumblr.com/post/127701904083/eideann-couslands-wardrobe-including-the-teyrna). :) The pendant Eideann chooses to wear with her green gown in this chapter is the one Eleanor was wearing in Chapter 1 of Book 1, in case anyone's interested. :)
> 
> NOTES ABOUT NESIARA  
> She's the potential bride for a male Tabris in the city elf origin. Originally from Highever, she ends up in Denerim to marry him. Since the female Kallian Tabris is the canon for Dances in Darkness, Nesiara never actually went to Denerim to get married. I figured her family could easily have moved there, and I liked the story. She is in Amaranthine now because Denerim's Alienage was a wreck. Amaranthine does apparently have an Alienage in lore (you just don't visit it in the game) so I assume that's where she and her family live now).


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann begins to move against her political enemies; Velanna is Joined and Nathaniel goes to check on Anders and Keenan; Eideann leads a team into the Deep Roads beneath Vigil's Keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence, gore
> 
> Comments always welcome.

Eideann forced herself not to look, not to turn her head with the unspoken question to Captain Garevel and Seneschal Varel.

_You were meant to be keeping her safe._

Instead she took a deep breath and beckoned to the Captain without looking to go and fetch the man at Zevran’s feet. He wore armor bloodied from battle, like Zevran had dragged him there himself straight from the scene of the crime. Zevran himself had his usual dark look. He crossed the hall, leaving the accused man to the Captain and weaving through the nobility assembled with all the confidence of a man coming out on top. 

He approached her where she stood, making a flourishing Antivan bow.

“Tell me,” Eideann said in a cool voice. Zevran raised his chin.

“I came upon this man on the road with a few of his men. They had just taken Ser Tamra and her guardsmen by surprise. The guards were dead. I saw him end Ser Tamra’s life himself.” He glanced back with a cool look in his eyes. “When they caught sight of me, I became their new target. His men are dead in my own defense. But I thought you might like to deal with this one yourself, _Bella_. He says his name is Ser Temaly the Ox.” Eideann turned her gaze on the man who was scowling up at her, flanked by Captain Garevel’s guardsmen. Eideann simply considered him, eyes cold.

“This knife-ear dares too much,” the man said in a dangerously quiet voice. “I am noble-born and will not submit to his accusations.”

“You will submit to mine,” Eideann replied coldly, her voice clear with a sheet of ice. 

“You have _nothing_ ,” he told her, eyes shining. “Only the word of this…man.” He glanced up and down Zevran a moment then sneered. “Release me, Commander.” He did not call her Queen. “It’s a common lout’s word against mine.” Eideann did not look to Seneschal Varel or Captain Garevel. She did not even look back to Zevran who was standing arms crossed with a bitter twist of a sneer on his face. Instead she looked to Nathaniel Howe, who met her gaze with cold grey eyes of his own.

“This man was a confederate of my father,” he said quietly. Eideann raised an eyebrow. “If he is innocent, I’m the Empress of Orlais.” Eideann turned her gaze back on Ser Temaly, look cold.

“Captain Garevel,” she called, and the man stepped forward, bowing low.

“Majesty?”

“Your sword.” There was a dark look in his eyes as he carefully drew it and then held it out. She took it up, considering the blade a moment, and then glanced back to Ser Temaly. “Ser Temaly, the man you call knife-ear and common lout is a veteran of the battle with the Archdemon himself, and I assure you knows murder when he sees it. You have murdered Ser Tamra, a knight of this court and of Ferelden, and I will have justice.” She turned the sword downward in her hand and held it out to right where Nathaniel Howe stood. “My Lord?” she said in a quiet voice. She felt the weight disappear as Nathaniel took the sword and stepped forward.

Ser Temaly’s eyes went wide and he tried to take a step back as Nathaniel closed on him. 

“But…you can’t! Majesty! Majesty!”

“Oh but she can,” Nathaniel said shortly, and raised the blade in both hands before slamming it home. Eideann did not look away as Ser Temaly’s head rolled, coming to rest some feet away. Nathaniel kicked the body over, then turned his gaze on the rest. 

“Let this serve as an example,” Eideann said in a cold voice, loud and clear, carrying across the hall. She let them decide what it was an example of for themselves. Her anger? How she treated murderers? How she might handle treason itself? There were hushed whispers, worried looks. She saw Zevran shift before her and Nathaniel return the sword to Captain Garevel. And then she sighed. “This session is over,” she said in a loud voice. “Leave us.” 

Her petitioners did depart then, leaving them gathered about the headless body of Ser Temaly. 

“There will be blood for this,” Seneschal Varel warned her. Eideann simply gave him a flat look.

“There was always going to be blood,” she replied. Then she looked to Zevran. “My friend. What have you found?” He sighed, shaking his head.

“I have dealt with one of those who has plotted against you, _Bella_ , but there are more I have yet to find. This man today was simply unlucky enough to have crossed my path as I returned.” He glanced briefly at the body, which a pair of Captain Garevel’s men were picking up from the floor.

Nathaniel Howe crossed to them, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“And who is he?” he asked quietly. Zevran grinned and gave a flourishing bow to him as he had done before.

“Zevran Arainai, formally of the Antivan Crows, Veteran of the Fifth Blight,” he said cordially. “And you are Nathaniel Howe? I knew your father, briefly. You will forgive me for saying I hope you are nothing like him.” Nathaniel glared a moment, then sighed, looking back to Eideann.

“A Crow?” he asked dubiously.

“Zevran is a friend,” Eideann said quietly. “He has been looking into the conspiracies against me coming out of some of the nobility. Ser Tamra risked her life to bring us the information. I had asked for a protection detail, but our enemies, it appears, were more prepared than we gave them credit for.” Nathaniel shook his head, crossing his arms. Eideann noticed a few spots of blood on his white trousers and sighed. Nathaniel glared a moment towards Zevran, then drew a deep breath.

“Well, if nothing else, they’re getting bold. What they’re hoping to get out of your fall, though, I can’t imagine. If they were to be successful, King Alistair is still in power in Denerim and would turn his military might against Amaranthine in an instant.”

“Perhaps,” Zevran said wryly, “they are hoping you may step into the position yourself.” Nathaniel gave him a dark look.

“That’s half the reason _she_ had me execute Ser Temaly,” he replied quietly, his voice dangerous. And then his gaze slid to Eideann, daring her to say otherwise. She just gave the slightest of dark smiles. 

“You chose to take the sword,” she said quietly in return and he gave a single nod, as if that was done and finished and he had nothing more to say. “Regardless,” Eideann added, looking to her Seneschal, “we still have a Joining to perform, and there are more than enough reasons to remain vigilant.” She thought of the Deep Roads below and gave a small shudder. “And send something blisteringly strong down to Oghren in the cellars. He’ll be guarding our backs all night.” Zevran grinned.

“I shall take it,” he said. “I miss our putrid, stocky companion.” Eideann smiled slightly, then nodded and let Zevran go off with Varel to prepare the Joining cup and find Oghren something to drink. 

Eideann glanced a moment to the bloodstain on the floor, then to Nathaniel.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, “for doing that.” 

“I told you, Cousland. What’s best for Amaranthine is a united front.” His hand went absently to his wrist where the Architect had taken his blood. He grimaced. “I don’t like being used in your games. You can’t outsmart me, you know.” She nodded.

“I would expect nothing less,” she replied softly. He gave her an odd look, then shook his head.

“What will you do,” he asked her suddenly, “when it comes time to leave? To return to the capital?” She gave him a little smile, her eyes like ice, and nodded, turning away. Her skirts pulled the pile of the crimson carpets, leaving a trail of darker fabric in her wake as she considering the throne of Amaranthine.

“I will never sit that chair,” she finally said, eyes dark. She could feel his eyes on her. “It isn’t my place to sit there. My domain is Ferelden itself.” She glanced over her shoulder then, considering him. “Whoever does sit that seat needs to understand the people here, and I need someone who can question me without my questioning their loyalty. But I will not beat Amaranthine into the ground. Its people are proud, and the blood of the Alamarri is thick here. Anyone who sits that seat will need to have earned it.” She considered the chair again, uncomfortable stone and wood padded with lambskin and curling wool. “There are precious few who would see such a responsibility as anything but a gift. I need someone who recognizes that sitting in that chair is a duty, not a prize.”

Nathaniel drew alongside her then, quiet and considering with smoky eyes.

“These lords working against you…”

“War is always decisive. There is no such thing as a war without losers,” Eideann told him quietly. “You know that better than anyone.” Her eyes slid to him and he was watching her. For a moment they stood, Cousland and Howe, watching one another warily for signs of weakness or trickery. And then Nathaniel looked away.

“How did your Crow know my father?” he asked. Eideann bowed her head with a small smile.

“Your father sent him to kill me, on behalf of Loghain. He failed.” Nathaniel did not even blink an eye, like he had suspected it all along. Eideann nodded, turning to him. “I am sure Zevran would rather tell the tale himself. Come, let’s find something to eat while we wait,” she said. “Where did you leave Velanna? She’ll want something before the Joining. That should never be done on an empty stomach.” 

***

The elf’s Joining went as well as could be expected, and not much differently from the rest. Eideann gave her the pendant of darkspawn blood when finally she awoke, and then they took the paths through the Vigil to the armory to find her Warden gear. The elf was adamant on keeping her own staff, and Eideann seemed to agree that was just fine. Nathaniel helped them find gear for Keenan too, at Eideann’s insistence, to replace the armor they had left behind at the Silverite Mine. And then, since he had apparently been designated the man responsible for such things, he was sent with it all in his arms to take it to Keenan’s chambers.

They had put the rescued Warden a room off the guest wing. That was perhaps for the best. Excepting his own chambers, he had avoided the family wing as much as possible. Even his own were musty, full of old memories and things best left forgotten. The guest wing was where most of the Wardens had established themselves, including Eideann, who was in one of the smaller chambers. Nathaniel was a little glad of that. If she had taken over the Arl’s chambers…

He cut that thought short and crossed the corridor towards the hall of rooms. Since arriving, he had not had the chance to check on Keenan, but he had heard the man was doing as well as could be expected. Anders had hardly left his side, which seemed odd, at least from what he knew of Anders. Nathaniel had not really assumed Anders to be the sort that became dedicated to something, but it appeared he took his skills as a healer incredibly seriously. He had not paused once since they had reached the Keep. Nathaniel was not even sure how much progress was being made. Was it really possible to repair Keenan’s legs? Would he ever even walk again?

In the landship on the way back, Anders had seemed determined, and angry at every set-back. Nathaniel had never seen him look so severe before. It had taken him aback a little to recognize that it almost did not matter if it was possible or not. Anders was determined to make him so. Keenan may never be a soldier again, but he would walk. That, at least, Anders had told him up front, a burning fire in his eyes. 

And Nathaniel had believed him. When a mage looked like that…

He grimaced and then turned the door handle carefully to let himself into the room.

Keenan was asleep, covered in blankets in a room that smelled medicinal. Anders was sitting beside the bed, head in hands, but when Nathaniel entered he looked up with a start. There were tired bags under his eyes. He pushed himself up hurriedly, almost upending a bowl of steaming water that smelled of herbs and something else, and then sighed as he managed to catch it, only just. Nathaniel carefully stepped into the chamber, giving him a curious look, and turned towards the armor rack that stood in the corner.

“For when he wakes up,” he said softly, sliding the armor into place on the rack, Warden heavy plate. Anders stood, watching him, and Nathaniel considered Keenan on the bed as he slid the gauntlets onto the arms of the rack. “How is he?”

“Better. I’m doing all I can,” Anders said quietly. He looked absolutely exhausted.

“You’ve saved his life, Anders,” Nathaniel said quietly. “You’re allowed a few moments to rest.” The mage looked a little unsteady on his feet, but then nodded, glancing to the sleeping Keenan before pursing his lips.

“I…want to prove I’m meant to be here,” he finally said in a quiet voice. “I want to prove this wasn’t just her taking pity on me. I want to prove I’m worthy of this.” Nate gave a soft sniff, looking away and crossing his arms, finally done with the armor.

“I don’t think Eideann Cousland takes pity on anyone,” he said quietly. “Either she sees a use for you or she doesn’t.” Anders looked to him with weary brown eyes.

“And that elf?” he asked quietly. “She was summoning demons, murdering people…what use could she possibly have?”

“I can’t pretend to know Cousland’s mind,” Nathaniel replied softly, simply, a little abruptly. Anders gave a small smile, no joy behind it.

“No, of course not. Sorry.” He considered him then, eyes tired, before catching Nathaniel’s gaze. “Black suits you,” he suddenly said. Nathaniel blinked, eyes narrowing a little.

“Excuse me?” he asked in his quiet tone. Anders took a step forward, reaching with one hand, and Nathaniel watched as he approached, eyes narrowed a little. Ander’s hand brushed his own, and Nathaniel considered him briefly. “This…”

“Shut up…” Anders murmured and then leaned in. His lips met Nathaniel’s, soft and brief, a mere moment. And then he drew back, wetting his lips and considering Nathaniel’s Coastland grey gaze with quiet brown eyes before nodding and taking a step back and turning his head away. “Sorry…” he breathed. “I…”

Nathaniel narrowed his gaze a little, focusing on his breathing a moment. 

Maker, how long had it been since anyone at all had kissed him? Too long, he realized. Tantervale and the Grand Tourney. Anders put some distance between them, for both their sakes.

“Why…?” Nathaniel asked quietly, a mere breath. He tried not to look towards Keenan asleep on the bed. Anders did not look back. His hair was catching the firelight that lit the room in deep orange and sienna. He just closed his eyes and sighed.

“Because I’m too tired to care if it seems ridiculous to want you,” he said quietly. “And I’m too tired to care what you’ll think of me for saying it either.” Nathaniel did not have words to reply to that. In fact, the entire idea had never really crossed his mind for a moment. Anders just gave a sad little smile, glancing up, then turning his face away with a small shake of head. “Perhaps you had best get to bed, Nathaniel. You’ll have a busy day tomorrow.” Nathaniel considered him a moment, then turned away. Anders’ voice carried, soft, gentle. “Goodnight, Nathaniel.”

“Goodnight, Anders.” He let himself back out, lost in thought, and carefully touched his fingers to his lips.

***

Eideann grimaced as she listened to the squeaking ropes on the pulley that was gradually lowering them down into the depths of the Deep Roads below the Vigil. At her side, Nathaniel stood, bow ready. She had Velanna with her too. Anders was still tending to Keenan and she had seen him haunting the corridors that morning when she had awoken, his eyes sunken from lack of sleep, all the life sucked out of him like he were dying himself just to keep this other man alive. She had left him to it, and given Varel instructions to see the man got some sleep if need be. 

Oghren made up the rest of their team. She wanted as many of them as possible in those tunnels. If they ran into trouble there, they would be in a fight for their lives. And a fight for their lives was exactly what she did not want right then and there. They were all of them tired from the Silverite Mine and the Wending Wood. They were the last line of defense, for the Vigil and for Ferelden. She gritted her teeth and hated that fact. It had been too true for too long.

She gripped her sword in her hands as Velanna threw up a light, her staff flickering with flames. It threw twisting shadows up about the caverns, barely tunnels yet. But she could feel the creeping taint and the presence of something below, and knew it was not too far down now.

And then the chambers opened up, great chambers of carved stone. She heard Nathaniel give a soft gasp nearby. The vast chambers, all carved into the living earth, were old, ancient in construction. In fact, they put her in mind of Caridin’s Cross and Bownammar. That made her incredibly nervous.

She wondered how many of the chambers further in were populated by the darkspawn. Those chambers must have been part of the initial attack on Soldier’s Peak when she had gathered her military might and was waiting to hear from Riordan for more. She did not like the idea that there in those caverns she might encounter more than she bargained for. What she really wanted was a way to close them off. Even the dwarves would seal tunnels when need be. As much as she hated admitting that defeat, with only a handful of newly minted Wardens to help her, she was uncomfortable trying to do much more unless she absolutely had to. She knew already the Architect may be there. These could be the very tunnels that emerged near Denerim where the horde had surfaced. And ultimately she knew that the final vestiges of that horde were somewhere close, somewhere nearby, seeking a new Archdemon.

Morrigan had been the one to find that information, the location of the Archdemons hidden below the earth. She did not like to think on it. Urthemiel to the south had been enough. One had been unearthed beneath the Storm Coast long ago. She had not had the opportunity to dedicate the required time to deciding which one, but it felt like an older Archdemon, one of the first: Dumat himself perhaps. She had wondered as well at the affinity for Wardens from the Coastlands and if the sheer number of Coastland Wardens was related in any way to that presence once deep below the earth. And the thought frankly terrified her.

The platform gave a jolt as the rope ran short, but they were close enough to the bottom to jump clear. Eideann slipped from the platform onto the stone floor, feeling it crunch a little under her feet, scree and rubble long since carpeting the area. 

These parts of the Deep Roads were odd, she knew. There was something that refused to be dwarven there, and it was not darkspawn either. She peered about, a little confused, and then caught sight of a collapsed staircase, matching those that climbed within the Vigil. She stared, and then gave a small shake of head and a disbelieving grin.

“The Avvar were trading in the Deep Roads,” she said suddenly. Nathaniel narrowed his gaze and looked back, and Oghren gave a low grunt of acknowledgement. She knew little enough about the Avvar, save the main Alamarri god Korth the Mountain Father was said to be the father of dwarves as well. It made sense for them to be in close contact to the dwarves in the area. But to dig so deeply, to connect the Vigil itself to the Deep Roads. She bit her lip a moment.

“Looks like their old tunnels are the darkspawn’s now,” Oghren grumbled. Eideann just nodded.

“We’ll keep moving. Be careful. There’s been a sizeable number here, and not our recent visitors either.” She thought she saw Nathaniel give a shudder out of the corner of her eye and grimaced.

The ancient architecture sloped inward, creating tunnels that were more triangular passages than main thoroughfares. Eideann’s dragonbone blade was alight with runes as she made her way through, and where the light landed, the darkspawn’s corruption seemed to retreat a little, as though it were driving them back. 

Eideann was wary. Somewhere in those tunnels there would be darkspawn, presumably the sort that she could not sense, and she knew that any small turn-off, easily missed in passing, could prove their downfall. So she led the way slowly, listening, tracking, trusting to her hunter’s senses more than her Warden ones. 

They did not fail her.

They were there, watching, waiting. More of the sort that were willing to be patient and think then? She did not wait to find out. She went for the first in the very first turn-off, slamming her blades home in its heart and feeling thick, acidic blood spray across her, burning her flesh and sizzling where it landed on her silverite armor. She pushed it from her face with her gauntlet, grimacing, and moved onward.

“They’re here,” she said firmly. “Be wary.” 

She did not need to say so twice. In fact, her team moved like they were made to do so together. Whether that was a side-effect of being Wardens or just the luck of the draw, she did not know. They had managed the Silverite Mines well enough. She was concerned for a while that Velanna might try to run off into the Deep Roads, but the elf stayed with them, eyes as cold as ever, and slew a fair few of their enemies as they cleared the hall.

At least it was one long hall. It appeared to truly be a road and not a Thaig at all. For that, Eideann was thankful, even if it meant that the Thaigs were further in and on. It meant less twists and turns, fewer places to hide, and a longer distance to travel before they reached any nests or Broodmothers. She had little enough desire to see them again. She still had yet to get beyond the first she had encountered. At times when she thought of Broodmothers, she was glad she had lost her child, because at least she knew it would not become a twisted creature. 

And then she realized what she was thinking and felt a weight of guilt at even thinking it. She had to force the thoughts away then, focus on the fight at hand, and took our her rage on the darkspawn.

_One day these tunnels will be clear,_ she thought. _One day we will reach Orzammar itself from this place._ She hoped, she prayed it was true. So much had been lost. Too much. 

The flagstones were of the style of the old empire, the uneven blocks that had lined Caridin’s halls in the City of the Dead. She was wary of them as she walked, determined not to go over on her ankle or get caught and tripped when she moved. They were certainly an annoying feature. If they did not date the roads to the First Blight or beyond, she was not sure what would.

She grimaced and danced across the corridor, cutting through another pair of hurlocks in rapid succession and just missing a shot of Velanna’s flame. The woman gave her a challenging look. Eideann just smirked in reply.

_Play your games if you wish,_ she thought. _I’m faster than that._

The original darkspawn pack they encountered were dealt with in a swift manner. Tired as they may all be, they were all angry and weary and impatient, and that meant death came easily to the creatures dwelling beneath their Keep. As they made their way along the corridor, Eideann called to the others.

“Keep a good look out on places to collapse the passage or block the way.” Oghren considered her a moment, then gritted his teeth.

“Most of the exits that surfaced like this had doors,” he told them quietly. “If we can find the doors we can seal it permanently. Eideann nodded, liking the idea of massive metal structures blocking the way. Even ogres had trouble breaking those down. Orzammar’s gates had stood since the First Blight. That seemed like the best sort of plan, and better: doors could be reopened at some point in the future, should the need arise. 

The walls were lined with dwarven signs, but also Alamarri. The dwarven ones were unintelligible to her. She had no ability to even begin reading the language, though she fully intended to learn the moment she was not busy stopping darkspawn that could think and plan from invading her country again. Instead, she focused on the Alamarri runes. They were still foreign, but some of it she recognized, so she considered them before reading what she could aloud.

_And so you are defeated, by Avvar and dwarf,_  
Bound by the blood of your people,  
May they hold you here forever. 

“Huh?” Oghren grunted. Nathaniel looked solemn.

“A ritual?” he asked quietly.

“What was bound?” Velanna said sharply. “A demon? By blood magic? Or else something else?” Eideann simply shook her head.

“There are many demons in the Deep Roads,” she replied quietly. Nathaniel gave her a wary look, but she had nothing to alleviate his concerns. It was true. In the Deep Roads where darkspawn roamed, the Veil was thin, and demons could cross. She would not lie. They were Wardens now. They needed to know the truth. “Be wary,” she said again. “If there are demons sealed here, I’d like them to stay that way.”

“And if they are not?” Velanna said in a flat voice. Eideann glanced back to her.

“You know a thing or two about summoning demons,” she replied curtly, thinking of the sylvans, demons of rage bound to trees. “We’ll defer to you if need be.” Velanna did not look impressed, but she did not argue either.

She was no mage, and a particularly thin veil was not something she could personally feel, but she had a prickling sensation in those corridors. They made their way through the chambers, great triangular corridors designed by long death smiths and flanked with Alamarri statues, until they came across a massive dome-shaped room that made her think, oddly enough, of the Orzammar Assembly. She walked through the large doors which hung open on rusted hinges, and paused to consider the chamber. Within, everything felt cold.

“There is something old here,” Velanna said, and that did not make Eideann happy to know. She carefully shifted her grip on her swords and paced to the center of the room.

She heard it before she saw it, a howl that echoed through the room, and then she was face to face with a Shade, the formless spirit corrupted and bound. She took a step back and brought her blades up as it swept towards her, grimacing against the shock of its attack. And then she felt Velanna’s magic ripple across the floor, roots erupting and tangling the creature up. 

“This is an old spirit,” the elf said, drawing closer, eyes still set like stone. The Shade hissed and raked its claws out in an attempt to reach them, but Velanna’s spell held fast. “It has been sealed here for some time.”

“Why? How?”

“With blood magic,” the Dalish First replied quietly, and then circled the creature carefully. “I believe the shemlen who once lived here partnered with the dwarves to lock the creature away. What the Children of the Stone could do to stop it, though…” 

“Maybe that was why they needed help.” She circled the Shade, shaking her head. “Can you rebind it?”

“Why should I?” Velanna said simply, eyes flashing.

“Release me, Mortal,” the creature suddenly said with a mouth not entirely a mouth. Eideann glanced to the creature, eyes narrowed, and shook her head. But Velanna stepped forward then, ignoring Eideann for a moment.

“Speak, creature, what do they call you?” The Shade shifted, and Eideann watched as Velanna toyed with the magic in her hand. 

“Ruadan, the Dark Theurge, they called me once, so long ago. Kiveal thought I would die in this place, but he was a fool. The Stone Children protected Kaelah, but she was mine, and Korth the Mountain Father will pay for stealing her away from me. Rage shall burn all to ash, and I shall feast on their fear. Their mortals shells shall serve me even in death, until Avvar and dwarf alike lie dead before me.” Velanna narrowed her gaze.

“Pathetic,” she said in a quiet voice. “You’re nothing, a shadow, a shade.” 

“I see your anger, your rage. Do you think you are safe, leaf-eared shamaness?” the Shade grinned with a maw that was a twisted reflection of a real mouth. “Do you think you can defeat me, when I have seen your heart? Kaelah ran from me, just as your sister runs from you.” Eideann’s eyes settled on the back of Velanna’s head. Velanna had gone very still.

But then the elf raised her staff, shaking her head and standing her ground.

“Dirthara-ma,” she said quietly, and her staff flared with light. It eclipsed the room in its brightness, and Eideann had to look away, dangerous as it was, to shield her gaze, as even behind her lids the world seemed to shine. 

And when at last the light died away and Eideann could look back, a massive tree had grown right about the Shade and closed it tightly within its gnarled and twisted trunk. The limbs stretched almost to the domed ceiling, but without light it would never grow taller. Eideann considered it, then Velanna, who was breathing heavily enough her shoulders were rising and falling. And then she looked back, eyes cold as ever, and met Eideann’s Cousland Blue gaze. 

“Yes,” she said irritably. “I can rebind it.” And then she pushed passed Eideann towards the door where it opened back into the Deep Roads themselves.

They were, it appeared, in a small outpost. Beyond that point, everything was a maze of small tunnels and chambers, like people had once lived there on the edge of the known dwarven world. It was clear it had been established to communicate with the Avvar. It had never become a true thaig, a thought that still concerned her, but the defenses were there. Old traps had long since sprung, some even catching some of the darkspawn who had stalked these corridors for over a thousand years. Others, like a collapsed ceiling, had been the effect of the way the earth sometimes moved, like it too needed to sometimes take a breath. Part of the corridors were collapsed, but not enough to seal off the paths, since there were so many rooms that went around.

And then Eideann caught it, the creeping darkness of darkspawn ahead, the twisting feeling that made her skin prickle, her head ache, and the entire world start to blur. She felt it, slick and oily, sliding over her soul, and shuddered, drawing to a halt.

“Darkspawn,” she warned quietly.

“I sense nothing,” Velanna replied.

“You won’t for a few months yet,” Eideann replied. And then she emerged into the central passage.

The darkspawn totems, jagged lightning bolt style effigies erected in crescents and bound with spikes and wire, stuck out of the Deep Roads floors like they had been entrenched there for years. She could sense a few different sorts, mainly hurlocks in this area, and none of them the sort that the Architect had awakened. These were leftovers from the Battle of Denerim, hiding in the area, it seemed. It was good to be able to fight normal darkspawn for once, even if the blood still burned when it spilled.

They were headed by an Ogre, which made Velanna give a scream of fright and Nathaniel almost freeze in shock. Oghren went straight for it with a hungover roar, spewing spittle everywhere as he charged past. Eideann followed him right in, leaping up towards the beast as Oghren’s battleaxe went for the knees. 

“Bring it down!” Eideann cried, slamming Duty home into its face. The creature shuddered and then slammed back, roaring in rage and pain. And then Oghren took out one of its legs, and the thing toppled, sending Eideann flying across the floor.

Oghren’s battleaxe drove into its head, once, twice, thrice before the beast finally twitched and lay still. And then Oghren spat and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, turning to glare at her.

“Did you need to stab it so many times?” Velanna insisted, watching them warily.

“Sometimes, they get back up,” Eideann replied shortly. 

Before them the Deep Roads seemed to be empty, if that even meant anything at all. She considered a moment, where several great doors stood open in quick succession. Oghren gave a musing look.

“Here,” he said, eyes dark. “Here’s where we want them closed, Commander.” Eideann nodded, glancing back.

“Nathaniel, we’ve cleared the passages here. Go and bring Voldrik back here. We’ll hold the line in case anything else shows up.” Nathaniel did not wait for more instructions. He took off, trekking the way they had come, tracking their movements as he would an elk, and slipping between the darkspawn totems with a grim-faced look.

It took him some time before returning. They were very deep down into the earth. The tunnels were sturdier than many she had seen, and the architecture was so old and crumbling that she was certain the ruins here predated the First Blight entirely. But those doors that lined the corridors were promising. They may work to keep the darkspawn away. She hoped they returned soon. The entire Deep Roads felt like toxic sludge to her, corrupted with the darkspawn taint.

She lost track of time down there. Zevran’s lyrium clock only worked by days, nothing smaller, and so she began instead to trace the lines in the stone and put together some of the mysteries that were steadily accumulating about her. But she had no answers, nothing to piece together in the end. When at last their came footsteps echoing along the tunnels the way Nathaniel had gone, and Voldrik, Sergeant Maverlies, and a small team of dwarven construction workers appeared with Nathaniel in tow, she had nothing at all to add to her massive picture. 

Voldrik took one look at the doors, though, and grinned.

“Commander, the ancestors favor us indeed,” he said. “This is a dwarven barrier door.” He ran a hand down the side of the wall where a great mechanism was tucked away, full of rusting gears. And then he carefully twisted one. It was a painful noise, the squeak it emitted, that rough turning. But finally the gears moved and the door swung inward. “Before the thaigs around here fell, they almost had it complete. Only the mechanism needs work. If they’d only had a bit more time to finish, Orzammar wouldn’t be all alone.” He glanced down the Deep Roads into the distance. They seemed to go on forever. Eideann shook her head.

“Can we use it?” she asked, and he nodded. 

“It won’t take me long to fix up the mechanism,” he said, running his hand over the rusty gears. “The poor sods were nearly done.” How many dwarves had perished in the thaigs beyond, unable to flee to the safety of the Alamarri caverns? The old outpost had been meant for more than just watching it appeared. 

Voldrik’s crew got to work, while Eideann and her people stood guard over the entrance. Voldrik came to join them as his people hammered away at the rusted gears, working the metal like magic itself.

“This,” he exclaimed as they worked, “is proper dwarven engineering.

One by one they closed the great gates, starting at the farthest, until at last they reached the mechanism and its heavy door. Voldrik’s team made the final touches, and then Voldrik stepped forward.

“You stand back now,” he told them all, and turned the mechanism. And the door swung shut, a resounding heavy clang as the metal met the stone of the Deep Roads walls, and then the gears spun into place, locking the Deep Roads tight. “That should buy us a few years,” Voldrik said, clapping his hands together. “A decade if we’re lucky.” Eideann nodded, pursing her lips, and then finally gave a sigh of relief. 

“That will give us time to devise a more permanent solution,” Sergeant Maverlies said simply. Eideann just shook her head.

“A more permanent solution would be a full drive into the Deep Roads in this area with the Legion. King Bhelen wants to reclaim these thaigs, and if he can bring the line to the Vigil itself…” But she was getting a little ahead of herself. “Let’s deal with the current threat, and then I shall see what we can do about the Deep Roads here and at the Peak.” But she did mean to do something about them. She had to. She glanced to her Wardens, which looked exhausted, and then nodded, quiet and steady. It felt good to have something done and dealt with. “Let’s get back to the surface,” she said quietly. “And then I’m done with darkspawn pits for the day.” 

“So what then?” Velanna insisted. “We wait for these darkspawn to come to us?” Eideann could hear the frustration, the need to be searching, doing something. 

“I have a few letters to write,” she said quietly. “It’s time I learned a little more about what exactly we’re dealing with.” Now that they had just a little bit more time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES:
> 
> The Dark Theurge is actually the Alamarri Shaman Ruadan who was sealed away by Kiveal (an Alamarri leader) with the help of the dwarves. From what we know of the Avvar, it is implied it is a spirit gone bad. The story with Kaelah and the dwarves is from an obscure codex and really just a best guess. I liked the parallels to Velanna's story that could be drawn, so I decided to give her the opportunity to deal with the problem, showing what she could do. 
> 
> Dirthara-ma: May you learn. It's actually used a curse. 
> 
> Nathaniel/Anders feels like it fit here. It is not strictly canon, but I have a great number of things planned for Nathaniel Howe in the future, so I did want to also tangle him up a little with Anders too, given the events in Kirkwall later. Forgive the liberties taken there. ;)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann reunites with a few old friends; Keenan shares what he knows of the Architect; Anders gets a cat; the Grey Wardens relax and Eideann considers the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: none (for once)
> 
> Comments always welcome. :)

_Warden-Commander Fontaine,_

_I need every record of the Grey Warden Utha you have available. There appears to be a connection with Utha and the resurgence in darkspawn currently occurring in Northern Ferelden, and many of my leads are proving troublesome and troubling. I_

She paused and then stared at the page before wadding it up and tossing it aside and beginning again.

_Warden-Commander Fontaine,_

_As Warden-Commander of Ferelden, I request you send all information you have involving the Grey Warden Utha as soon as possible. There_

She made a frustrated noise and tossed that one too.

_Fontaine,_

_A darkspawn calling itself the Architect has appeared under Ferelden. Send me all information regarding encounters with particularly notable emissaries immediately, and also the records of the Grey Warden Utha, who has been seen in his company. I refuse to believe no one has encountered this darkspawn before._

She sighed and rose, stalking away from the small table that sat in the corner of her chambers and going instead to the window to peer out to the world beyond.

How would she even begin? She needed information, and Warden-Commander Fontaine had been less than helpful before. All the Wardens had been. But she refused to believe this was the only avenue open to her for information. The Grey Warden with the Architect, that dwarf, was definitely wearing the uniform out of Orlais, and could not have come from Ferelden itself since prior to Ostagar the Wardens themselves had been absent from her country entirely.

She needed to speak to Keenan. Perhaps he might know more. And she needed to follow up on a thousand other leads. There was the Deep Roads entrance in the Knotwood Hills to work out, and the smuggling that would hopefully ease a little in Amaranthine now. And then there was her promise to Nathaniel to find Delilah, and the conspiracy to overthrow her brewing underfoot, and Warden Kristoff who had vanished into Blackmarsh and may yet be alive. 

Considering who they had encountered thus far, she was very concerned for him.

She sighed and settled back into her seat, tossing away the most recent letter and taking a new approach.

_Alistair,_

_Things without you are difficult, and the situation here grows more confounding every day. I struggle to keep the Vigil defensible, and will be paying for fortifications from money loaned from Fergus at this rate. I have restored trade through the Wending Wood, but at great cost. What we found there is of significance. Should something happen, you must know all that has transpired._

She carefully chronicled the events of the past week or so for him, careful not to leave out any details, including Utha, the Architect’s blood ritual, and the strange darkspawn freedom they seemed to strive for. She told him also about Warden Kristoff and the suspicions in Blackmarsh, as well as her knews of the Deep Roads beneath Knotwill Hills and her thoughts as to what my transpire there. She told him also about the barrier doors, and her determination to see the thaigs beneath northern Ferelden reclaimed. After all, with the Waking Sea serving as a water barrier, there were opportunities to create a defensible system of Thaigs that the darkspawn could not touch, and the value in that was…well she did not even know. She spoke also of Zevran’s appearance, and his assistance in dealing with some of the more spiteful nobility. What Alistair would make of that, she was unsure, but she was hardly going to keep it from him that the crown was assassinating political opponents. That could in turn harm him.

She told him as well of the new recruits, a little bit on each of them, their skills and personalities. She decided she would start keeping her own records soon, or as soon as she was able, or at the very least she would request that Seneschal Varel find someone to do so for her. She was determined to know who worked for her, especially with this new information about the dwarf Utha causing such concern. 

She missed Angus almost as much as Alistair. And part of her wanted to ride for Highever and see Fergus. She finished off her notice to Alistair, and then started on a letter to her brother next, hoping to dig into Highever’s coffers in search of the funds to rebuild her keep. She was certainly expecting trouble now, and as Teryn, all of Amaranthine fell under Fergus’s jurisdiction. It was a fair request, and Highever had not suffered from the monetary costs of trying to battle darkspawn or rebuild in the aftermath of the Blight. 

A soft knock came at the door, and she glanced up to catch sight of Nesiara peering around the doorframe for her.

“Your Majesty, someone is here to see you,” she said quietly, and Eideann blinked, carefully rising.

“Who?” 

“A mage,” Nesiara said worriedly, and Eideann narrowed her gaze before nodding and following the elf down the corridor. She was led to the hall where servants were still trying to get the blood out of the carpet. And there, in the center of the chamber, clad in dark blue robes trimmed with white fennec fur for winter was Wynne, grey hair caught up as usual, teal eyes shining. Eideann grinned and hurried to her, and Wynne met her in the middle, closing her arms about her in a motherly sort of embrace.

“My my, you look as hale as usual,” the woman declared with a wide smile, and Eideann drew back as the old mage examined her. There was a crumbling rumble of stone beyond and Eideann turned to catch sight of Shayle loitering just inside the Keep doors looking particularly uncomfortable.

“Ah, it has survived,” the golem declared.

“What are you both doing here?!” Eideann grinned, shaking her head. She wondered where Oghren and Zevran were hiding. She had almost her entire party back. Not that she wanted that, precisely, but it made her heart ache a little.

“We planned to take a ship out of Amaranthine across the Waking Sea,” Wynne declared. “The College of Enchanters has been called in Cumberland, and I wondered if perhaps those there might have some idea on how to help Shayle.” The golem was still looking to reclaim her old form then. Eideann nodded, smiling, and beckoned them both in.

“The elder mage has been slow,” Shayle declared flatly. “It always needs to sleep and eat and do squishy person things. It is really quite intolerable.”

“As are you,” Wynne said kindly, and Eideann gave a soft laugh. And then she sighed. 

“You find me at a difficult time, my friends,” she said softly. “Things are proving more difficult than expected here in Amaranthine.” Wynne was about to ask when the door at the far end of the corridor opened. Eideann glanced back to catch sight of Anders.

“Commander, I thought you might like to know, Keenan is awake and – Wynne.” His gaze went flat and cold. Wynne considered the other mage with a steady look, then glanced questioningly to Anders.

“Joy. Another mage,” Shayle grumbled. Eideann sighed.

“Anders, I’ll be there shortly.”

“I’ve done all I can for him,” Anders said, turning his gaze from Wynne. “He will be able to walk again, but fight…that’s a tougher thing to say.” His eyes flickered warily to Wynne again. “Why is _she_ here?” 

“Anders, Wynne and Shayle helped me in the Battle of Denerim. They are friends.” Anders looked wary. “Shayle, Wynne, this is Warden Anders, who you may have met before, it appears.” She did the introductions in such a way as to make it perfectly clear Anders was under her protection. She trusted her former companions, but she knew as well that Wynne was quite strict in her adherence to Chantry doctrine, and there was clearly some distrust between them.

“You have joined the Grey Wardens, then?” Wynne asked carefully. Eideann sighed. 

“Wynne, Anders has been helping to treat another Warden we rescued only recently. Perhaps you may be able to assist?” she asked quietly. Anders gave her a dark look, like she had just told him he was awful at his job, but she simply placated him with a mouthed ‘sorry’ and then motioned for Wynne to follow.

“I shall stay here and threaten the squishy servants,” Shayle said in a detached voice, airy and full of musing. Eideann just gave a flicker of a smile, and left the golem to do as it would. As she followed Anders to the doors, she heard Shayle stomp over to where the servants were trying to scrub out bloodstains. “Ah, someone _has_ been squished. I thought the Grey Warden would have objected to that.” Eideann just shook her head.

Keenan was indeed awake when they entered the chambers where he had been housed. He still lay on the bed, his legs propped up on pillows to keep them elevated. The fire in the grate had burned down low, but still flickered in embers, making the room very warm. Wynne went immediately to the small window and threw open the curtains to let in better light, which Anders sighed at but did not object to directly. And then the woman sank into the chair where Anders had been working his magic, and considered the man before her.

“I am a healer,” she told the man, “a Senior Mage of the Circle.” Keenan just glanced to Eideann who nodded, then eased back into his chair as Wynne bent to examine his legs. They did look significantly better, and judging from Anders’ tired expression that was almost entirely his doing.

“This is fine work,” Wynne said quietly. Anders looked surprised at the compliment.

It occurred to Eideann that as a Spirit Healer, Anders had probably apprenticed under Wynne awhile. She considered them both, then sighed.

“Keenan,” she asked, distracting the man from wincing at Wynne’s work. “I was wondering if you might answer a few questions for me.” 

“I can try, Commander,” he replied weakly, “but I don’t know how much help I will be.” Eideann nodded. That was alright. Anything he might say could help. And if he did not know, she would find another way.

“The darkspawn emissary in the mines was performing experiments using Grey Warden blood. Velanna’s sister said he was freeing them from the Blight.”

“I don’t know, Commander. I’ve never heard anything like it.” Eideann nodded.

“How about this: he had a Grey Warden with him, clad in the standard armor. Was she one of your group? A dwarf? He called her Utha.” Keenan looked a little nervous, then drew a breath.

“Before we came to Ferelden – “ He was cut off by a soft cry of pain and a murmured apology from Wynne who was scowling over his injury. “Before we came, we were briefed by Warden-Commander Fontaine herself,” he finally said. “She told us that Ferelden was a particularly difficult posting, with a lot of history, least of which because of its relationship to Orzammar. We went through the basic history, Commander Dryden and Soldier’s Peak, as well as the more recent things, including the most recent excursions by Orlesian Wardens into Ferelden in Maric’s reign and the re-admittance of the Order into the country under Warden-Commander Duncan. I believe you were familiar with him.” Eideann narrowed her gaze, considering, then sank into a seat at the foot of the bed.

“I know very little. You’ve been a Warden longer than I. Tell me what you know.” Keenan grimaced, and then looked away a moment. Then, at last, he drew a breath.

“It was over two decades ago now. The Warden-Commander of Orlais, Bregan, went on his Calling. His sister took over the position, Warden-Commander Genevieve. News came to light that Bregan had not been slain on his Calling but rather captured,” Keenan said, his voice thin. Eideann’s eyes flashed.

“Captured as we were?” she asked warily.

“Perhaps? I don’t know all the details. There was worry, however, that Bregan’s knowledge as Warden-Commander could be used against him if the darkspawn found out.” 

“Knowledge like the locations of the Archdemon prisons,” Eideann said coolly, nodding to herself. Wynne gave her an odd look, and Anders stammered a little. She ignored both. Keenan warily glanced to the others, and Eideann waved for him to continue. 

“Commander Genevieve, to protect those secrets and rescue Commander Bregan, led a team into Ferelden with the hopes to compel King Maric and Teryn Loghain to assist in the navigation of the tunnels in the vicinity of Ortan Thaig. That, they had learned, was Bregan’s last known location.”

“How?” Anders demanded. “How did they know this?” Keenan shook his head.

“They said it came in dreams.”

“Fade dreams or darkspawn dreams?” Eideann asked warily. 

“Perhaps both?” Keenan suggested, uncertain. He winced again as Wynne channeled more magic into his leg. “I don’t know.” Eideann crossed her arms, looking away.

“Continue please,” she said. It was meant a request but appeared a command. He took a moment.

“The team she took was volunteers apparently, those who believed in her visions. She took two fairly new recruits, Duncan and a newly minted mage called Fiona. And then a Silent Sister called Utha and an Avvar tribesman called Kell and his Joined mabari. Two older warriors too. They ended up – ”

“They ended up convincing the King of Ferelden to go traipsing through the Deep Roads without informing his closest advisor and friend.” Eideann looked with alarm to Wynne, who seemed quite cross. “When he finally did return, it was inside the Circle of Magi, which was undergoing a bit of an Orlesian coup backed by a darkspawn emissary calling itself the Architect. The Architect was collaborating with the Grey Warden Utha.” Keenan nodded.

“Only Fiona, King Maric, and Duncan survived. Duncan obviously became the first Warden-Commander of Ferelden in three centuries, your predecessor.” Eideann narrowed her gaze.

“And this Fiona?” she asked.

“Fiona is currently the First Enchanter of the Circle of Montsimmard,” Wynne said grimly. “She is the leader of the Libertarian faction there, and highly regarded by many of them as a voice for freedom for the Circle.”

“Rightly so,” Anders said darkly. Wynne silenced him with a look. Eideann just sighed. 

“She’s in the Circle? But she’s a Grey Warden.”

“Not anymore. She was…cured of the taint somehow,” Keenan said quietly. “She was removed from the Order when attempts to re-Join her failed. She’s immune to the taint.” Eideann paused to consider that, then grimaced.

“So…this Architect was in the Circle Tower at Kinloch Hold?” she asked quietly. Wynne sighed.

“Yes. I was far younger then, and we were confined to quarters during First Enchanter Remille’s coup. This was not long after Maric and Loghain had reclaimed Ferelden, you must understand.” Eideann shook her head, rising and pacing across the room.

“Who knows more of this?” she asked quietly. Wynne shook her head. “Greagoir? Irving? Tell me who I need to speak to!” she insisted. 

“Only Fiona is left,” Wynne said simply, and there was clear distrust in her gaze. “She will attend the College of Enchanters in Cumberland. You could send a message, and I will see she receives it. She may already have left Montsimmard.” Eideann sighed, leaning against the wall on her arm a moment, and then swallowed before slamming her hand into it. “What is happening?” Wynne asked.

“The Architect is beneath Amaranthine as we speak,” she said simply, looking back. “And I need to know what in the Void is going on if I want to stop him.” Wynne just gave her a sad look, then glanced back to Keenan’s leg.

“You’ll find a way,” she said quietly. “You survived the Archdemon when no one was meant to.” Eideann just shook her head.

“That is different,” she said simply. “That was luck and a lot of planning. This…” She drew a deep breath, forcing herself to think. “Why was he at the Circle Tower? What was he planning?” 

“According to what reports we have from Duncan and Fiona after they reported to Weisshaupt,” Keenan replied quietly, “he wanted to know where the Old God prisons were to slay the Old Gods before they ever became tainted, to free the darkspawn from the Call.” Eideann was shaking a little. She did not look back. She thought. Very hard. And she felt sick.

“If we know where the Old God prisons lie, why couldn’t we try that?” Anders said quietly. Eideann did not look around.

“The darkspawn are freed of that compulsion now,” she finally said, “and what is the result? Chaos. They’re unpredictable. And on top of all that they still spread the taint, they still corrupt and murder, except now they also think. Now they strategize. Now they can plan how best to kill us instead of raging forth as a horde and fleeing when we cut off their head.” Maker, the thought was enough to shatter all her resolve. A darkspawn horder without a head that still kept coming and never stopped.

“But isn’t it our duty to defeat the Blight?” Anders shot back, a little angrily. Eideann closed her eyes.

“And when the Archdemons are dead?” she asked him softly. “Are the darkspawn magically gone? Do they die then?” He was silent. She grimaced. “Darkspawn corrupt. Their touch turns people into ghouls. They kidnap females and turn them into Broodmothers to birth more darkspawn. A darkspawn is as dangerous to us regardless of if it follows and Archdemon or not. A darkspawn is still dangerous, with or without that compulsion.” She grimaced, glaring up at him. “If they’re chasing the next Archdemon, of which there are two remaining, they are not strategizing to end the world themselves. This Architect and his small band of thinking darkspawn have led to the slaughter of how many of our people these last few weeks alone? A creature that can taint you by its very touch is dangerous. One that knows and understands it….doubly so. I will not go chasing Archdemons with a mere handful of Wardens in a foolish attempt to prevent the corruption of thousands of mortal lives. Darkspawn will not end with the Blights, Anders. The Archdemons are the least of our worries right now, especially as it took them four hundred years to find the last one.” He fell silent then, presumably because she either had a point he had been convinced of or else he had realized it was not worth arguing with her. Instead, he glanced to Keenan.

“What in particular do the Wardens know of this Architect then?” Eideann asked, following his gaze. Keenan sighed.

“Only what First Enchanter Fiona knows. She gave the First Warden at Weisshaupt a full report, and not long afterward a team was sent to investigate the Thaig where the Architect was said to reside. They found nothing. There were supposed to be books and things, research and notes. That sort of thing.”

“Well we know where they all are now,” she said darkly, and reached into her tunic, throwing the Architect’s notebook down on the bed before them, just shy of Keenan’s legs. “This time we have the bastard, and whatever else he is planning, I intend to stop him.” She meant it too. 

“I want to help, Commander,” Keenan said, looking up desperately.

“And you shall,” she informed him. She glanced to Anders, then to Wynne.

“I shall see what I can do to add to Anders’ work here,” Wynne said, and Anders sighed, then turned away.

“I’m…going to get something to eat,” he grumbled. Wynne watched him go, and then glanced to Eideann.

“That boy is dangerous,” she said softly.

“Yes, you said the same about Morrigan,” Eideann replied. “I have a soft spot for apostates apparently.” Wynne gave her a firm look and Eideann just shook her head, cutting the conversation short. “He’s a Warden, Wynne. That’s that. If I write up a letter for the First Enchanter Fiona, can you see it is delivered as you offered?” Wynne sighed.

“Only since we are friends,” she replied. Eideann just gave her a smile, then looked to Keenan.

“You’re in good hands, Keenan. I’ve never known anyone better,” she said with confidence, and Wynne gave a quiet, confident smile before setting back to work. Already the man’s legs looked much better, and Eideann was beginning to hope perhaps he may yet be of use as a true Warden yet. 

She went then in search of Anders, deciding that Shayle could wait a moment longer out in the hall scaring the servants. She found Anders in the kitchens, picking through the early preparations of lunch when the cooks were not paying attention. Eideann helped herself to a chunk of cold ham, coming up beside him in silence and startling him a little as she moved into his field of vision. He glanced to her, then sighed.

“I tried,” he told her in a surly voice. She just clapped a hand on his shoulder, shaking her head.

“I know. And I think you’ve done incredibly well. I thought you might like a rest.” He just gave her a flat look, so she motioned with her head. “Come with me. I have something for you.” 

She had sent Zevran to Amaranthine with two motives. The first had been to find those conspiring against her. But the second was a more personal matter. He had not disappointed. After they had returned from the Deep Roads that morning, he had pointedly insisted she visit the stableyard with him. She had paid him in silver for his trouble, though he insisted the pleasure of her company had been enough for him, and then determined to wait for Anders next. 

But now seemed as good a time as any. Anders followed her warily down the steps into the overcast yard beyond the barbican and then round to the stableyard where blocks of hay stood for the horses and a few of the boys were mucking out the stables. She crossed to the far stall, empty, where Zevran had brought her before, and then paused as she reached the wooden door, opening it and leaning on the wood, pointing him inside.

“Here. I got you something.” He blinked at her, then turned to look, and the grin of delight that lit his face made her smile as well. He swept into the hay-covered stall, bending down over the bundle of orange fluffy sticking up out of the hay. Big yellow eyes blinked back at him. Anders grinned.

“Awww, look at the cute little kitty!” he declared, eyes wide. The tiny cat rubbed itself along his hands and Anders gathered it up into his arms, glancing back to her. “But I can’t keep a cat…We fight darkspawn for a living!” he said quietly, looking at her, begging her to say otherwise. She just smirked.

“He can stay at the Keep then,” she said simply, giving him a wry look. “Maybe…in your room?” 

“I suppose,” he said, unable to repress his smile even though he was trying very hard to do so. The kitten in his hands gave a great purr, licking at his thumb and pawing at his wrist. Anders melted. “Well I’ll keep him just for a while,” he finally said, grinning and tickling under the kitten’s chin, “until I find somewhere safer.” He bent over the kitten. “Is that okay with you, kitty?” he asked in a cooing voice. Eideann gave a soft laugh, turning away as Anders carried the cat out of the stall, hay caught on his black Warden trousers. “I’ll call you Ser Pounce-a-lot!” he declared. His eyes were full of joy when he glanced back at Eideann. “He can stay in my pack! Just for a little while, yes?” Eideann raised an eyebrow, but she was still grinning too. “Are Wardens even allowed pets?” Anders asked her. She pursed her lips to keep the smile down.

“I faced an Archdemon with Angus at my side. I’m sure Ser Pounce-a-lot will manage,” she said, trying not to laugh, and Anders just ignored her tongue-in-cheek reply. His fingers stroked down the orange tabby fur and the little kitten purred again, small enough to fit in the crook of his arm.

“Thank you…” he finally said, unable to meet her eyes. “I…I didn’t realize you’d…when I told you about Mr. Wiggums…” 

“It’s no trouble,” she told him softly. “I prefer it when my people smile.” 

“Your people?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement. She just met his gaze, all laughter gone, and nodded.

“Come on,” she said with a grin as they skirted the stableboys mucking the stalls. “Let’s see if Ser Pounce-a-lot likes milk.” Anders, thoroughly placated, just grinned and followed her across the courtyard back towards the Keep.

***

_First Enchanter Fiona of the Circle of Montsimmard,_

_I have been led to understand that you were a colleague of my predecessor, Warden-Commander Duncan of Ferelden, and that you travelled with King Maric Theirin for a time. While in the Deep Roads, the three of you encountered an emissary known as the Architect, a talking darkspawn that was apparently unaffected by the Blightsong. Further expeditions, however, turned up no evidence to support these claims, and the matter was dropped._

_I also understand you are no longer a Grey Warden, and that you are now involved in matters pertaining to the Circles of Magi, but I have no other place to turn for information save the source. Duncan was slain at Ostagar during the Fifth Blight. King Maric, as you know, has been gone for almost seven years and is also presumed dead. I hope you might take pity on us, as grave circumstances mean I must now reach out to you._

_I have encountered the Architect. I and several of the Wardens under my command were recently captured by this Architect. His creatures also slew an entire garrison in northern Ferelden, darkspawn that he claims to have freed from the Blightsong. These darkspawn think and speak, and they are no longer compelled as their brethren to find the Old Gods. Instead, they plot and strategize, wreaking havoc across the Arling of Amaranthine, one of our only fertile grounds remaining with the fast-approaching winter. If I cannot stop him soon, Ferelden will starve._

_I hope you might be able to tell me more of this emissary, the Architect. I need any and all aid I can find. There are only half a dozen Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden, with no reinforcements forthcoming from Orlais or the Free Marches. If I cannot be armed with swords, arm me with knowledge. I truly believe this emissary to be a larger threat to all of Thedas than the Archdemon Urthemiel was. If his plans, whatever they may be, do come to fruition, or if he manages to change all the darkspawn into this free-thinking sort that moves and acts alone, there is no turning back. They will become a far more dangerous adversary than we have ever faced before. I plead your assistance. I have nowhere else to turn._

_Warden-Commander Eideann Cousland-Theirin,  
Queen of Ferelden_

She set down the pen and folded the parchment, stamping the wax with both the royal seal and the Grey Warden griffon. And then she gathered up the paper and brushed her skirts aside, rising from her small desk.

She found most of her people in the dining hall, gathered around Ser Pounce-a-lot and Anders, who was entertaining the creature with string. Wynne was there as well, accompanying Keenan who had managed to finally leave his chamber. The man had a walking stick beside him, and could only go small distances while his legs continued to heal, but he looked far better after Anders and Wynne had worked their magic, and his appetite had returned. He was working his way through a chicken leg with a healthy drive. Eideann gave him a smile and a nod, and then leaned over the table to Wynne.

“This is for First Enchanter Fiona,” she said, and the old woman took it, tucking it away safe into a bag at the belt of her blue robes. 

“I will see it there safe, my friend,” she promised, and Eideann let out a sigh. Then she glanced to Keenan.

“How are you feeling?”

“Far better,” he admitted. “I even walked here myself. I thought…” His voice caught a moment. “I did not think I would ever walk again, Commander.” Eideann nodded and he looked down. “I want to help, but I don’t know how. And I should see my wife as soon as I can.” 

“She is in the City, yes?” Eideann asked. Keenan nodded, and Eideann pushed up off the table. “Tell me her name and where I might find her and I shall seek her out when I visit the City tomorrow.” Keenan looked up, a small smile on his face, and nodded.

“Nida,” he said. “She is staying in one of the inns. When we first arrived, the Vigil was not prepared for so many, so our families arranged to stay in the City instead.” Eideann nodded and then glanced down the table.

“We will find her,” she said quietly. A shadow crossed over his eyes when she looked back, but she could not tell why.

“Thank you…” he said, and slipped the wedding band from his finger. “Take this…it will…give this to her and she will know it came from me.” Eideann took it carefully, giving him an odd look, and then twisted her own iron and silverite ring on her finger. He was watching it a moment, but said nothing, and went back, a little quieter now, to his plate. 

Eideann moved along the table towards her other Wardens then, pausing before Nathaniel Howe who gave her a quiet look.

“I thought tomorrow we may try our luck at finding Delilah again,” she said quietly, and a gleam lit in his eye. He gave a quiet nod. Eideann glanced to where Anders was still playing with the cat, and gave a small smile. She pulled over a chair and sank into it, helping herself to some of the blackberry and honey wine in a pitcher beside Nathaniel. “Perhaps we’ll have a better time of it this time around?” she suggested, sipping at the wine in her goblet and considering him over the rim. Nathaniel just leaned forward onto the table, watching the mage and the cat with a perplexed look, so Eideann followed his gaze and let the matter drop.

“You seem rather attached to that cat, Anders,” the man finally said, and Anders looked up, grinning.

“It’s more that he is rather attached to me,” he replied, giving a quiet little smirk. He bent over the cat, scruffing the fur atop its head. “Isn’t that right, Ser Pounce-a-lot?” The cat gave a low purr and Nathaniel shook his head.

“Isn’t that name a little…ridiculous?” he asked. Eideann just smiled around her cup and then reached to help herself to some dinner piled on the plates in the center of the table. 

“What do you think I should call him?” Anders shot back, his look defiant. “Frederick?” Eideann gave a soft chuckle and Nathaniel turned his face away.

“There are worse names, I suppose,” he muttered. 

“Yes,” Anders grinned. “I could have called him Nathaniel.” The ranger was not impressed, but refused to rise to the occasion and take the dangling bait. Instead, he simply filled his own goblet with the blackberry and honey wine and looked away. Anders tutted, then sighed. “Spoilsport.” 

The door opened, and Oghren appeared, Zevran at his side. They were engaged in some discussion, heated as per usual, but all in good fun. Eideann raised an eyebrow, smirking over her cup, and for a moment it felt almost like it always had.

“Could it be that Orzammar’s archives aren’t the most accurate authority on elves?” Zevran was grinning.

“Orzammar’s archives are hardly an authority on Orzammar’s archives,” Oghren replied, crossing towards them and hauling a bench out from under the table to sit on. Zevran shook his head, rolling his eyes.

“I’m just cheered by the thought that you might have picked up a book at some point,” he announced, shooting a smirk towards Eideann. Oghren gave a low chuckle, digging out his flask. The wine was not near strong enough for him.

“It had pictures. Dirty ones,” he said before spilling half his flask into his beard. Zevran sighed, shaking his head. Standing on the other side of the table, Shayle gave a groan.

“Well, naturally,” Zevran mused, then gave Eideann a bow of head. “ _Bella,_ ” he said in his usual charm, greeting her. She poured him a glass of the wine, and he took that up. “Ah! My stocky friend, I have a joke for you.” Oghren looked over blearily, and then shifted in his seat like he needed to prepare. “So a human, an elf, and a dwarf are walking down a trail beside a stream, and they stop to take a piss.” Oghren grinned.

“Alright, things are lookin’ up. Continue,” he said, waving his flask as an invitation. 

“After, the human takes out some soap and begins washing his hands.” Anders and Nathaniel were paying attention now. Wynne and Keenan had stopped their conversation to listen too. Even Velanna, sitting alone in the corner wiping the grim from her staff, tilted her head to listen. Zevran, aware he now had an audience, went all out with his performance. “’We humans have learned how to be clean and hygienic,’ he says to the others. The elf begins picking some leaves off the trees and wipes his hands with them. ‘We elves do as tradition has taught us and use what nature has provided.’ The dwarf, meanwhile, has pulled up his trousers and is already on his way down the trail. ‘And our ancestors,’ he calls back, ‘taught us dwarves not to piss on our hands!’” He erupted into a deep laugh. Anders grinned, Nathaniel shook his head, Keenan almost spat out his food. Even Velanna had the slightest of smiles at the corner of her mouth.

“Bah, shows what you know about dwarves,” Oghren smirked. Shayle gave a heavy sigh.

“The painted elf has been testing that joke for months. The painted elf thinks it is funny, but it is not.” 

“Come now, my friend,” Zevran called to the golem. “If it were about golems pissing, you’d find it far more intriguing.” Shayle made a disgusted sound and Oghren looked over. Eideann settled back in her chair.

“Do golems know any good jokes?” the dwarf asked. Shayle’s pinpoint eyes focused on Oghren. 

“I know at least one,” the golem replied, sniffing airily. “It is a drunken dwarf that travels with the Grey Warden, constantly belching and –“

“I mean a real one!” Oghren declared. “You must have overheard at least one or two standing there as you did for years and years!” Shayle took a moment, then shifted, rocking a little. The purple crystals embedded in her stone flickered a little as she thought.

“There was a human man who once started telling a joke to another as he relieved himself on my leg,” she finally admitted musingly. “I confess I didn’t listen. I was too busy planning my revenge.” 

“What happened to him?” Nathaniel asked warily, but there was a slight smile on his lips. Shayle turned to him and replied in a flat tone:

“He disappeared during the fighting in Honnleath. Tragic. Hit his head on a rock, I think.” Velanna’s laugh was loud and clear, and Shayle glanced over, perhaps startled. “The grumpy elf thinks I am joking.” Velanna smirked and set aside her staff.

“Actually, I don’t,” she said in reply. Eideann sighed.

“I have a joke,” Anders said with a smirk, gathering his kitten into his lap and folding up his string. Ser Pounce-a-lot purred and rubbed against his hand as the mage looked up to them all. “What do you say when you meet a Howe?” Nathaniel’s gaze narrowed. Anders grinned. “I’m fond of the Howes!” Anders replied. “And the Whys and the Whos and the Whats!” There was a collective groan and Anders bent his head, snickering to himself and petting his kitten.

“How clever,” Nathaniel grumbled. Anders gave him a genuinely shame-faced smile.

“It’s shameful how long it took me to come up with that,” he said. 

Eideann rolled her eyes and took another sip of her wine, shaking her head. For a little while, just a little while it felt normal again.

She thought of those early days Alistair had spoken of, of the old Wardens under Duncan, of Grigor and his drinking contest, and grinned a little into her cup. It was a relief perhaps that this was what they had. Her own introduction to the Wardens had been far different. This…this was a small family.

She carefully slipped from her seat and rose, letting them have that moment. She did not belong in the middle of that. Not when she was preoccupied with other things. 

She heard footsteps following her and glanced back to see Zevran crossing to join her, pitcher of wine in his hand to pour her another. She held her goblet steady as he did so with a practiced sort of grace reserved for ballrooms and courts and parties, like he had been trained to be inconspicuous in the best dances. And when he was done, his gaze flickered to her.

“Come, _Bella_ , he said in a soft voice, motioning with his eyes to the door. “Come and tell me what is wrong.” 

They wandered then to the upper walkway, and Eideann was glad that there was no rain. Zevran was quiet, meandering down the path, waiting for her to speak. She just buried her face in her cup and walked along, holding the goblet in both hands. And then, at last, she closed her eyes and lowered the goblet from her mouth to gaze out across Amaranthine.

“It feels very strange to be so normal after all that has happened.” Zevran glanced to her, quiet gaze considering, and she sighed. “I’m finding things to complain about, aren’t I?”

“No. You’re finding normalcy,” he replied, meeting her eyes when she looked over. “I think you deserve a bit of that.”

“But it isn’t normal, is it?” she asked, shaking her head. “There are still darkspawn, weird new ones, I am still trying to end something that threatens all of Ferelden, and now I’m the Queen in a land that wants to kill me.”

“It is your new normal,” Zevran grinned. “And I think you are handling it rather well, all things considered.” His smile faded and he crossed his arms, peering into his goblet. “Alistair will be missing you. You must do what you can here to help him, and then go back to your wonderful new life, _Bella_.” She shook her head, glancing out across Amaranthine from the Vigil battlements. “One day,” he told her softly, “you must find a new home.” 

“Home,” she mused, pressing a hand against the bodice of her gown and taking another swallow of the sweet and heavy wine. “The world feels very small, my friend, like it’s too small for us all to fit in it anymore.” He gave her a wan little smile and carefully poured himself another drink before setting the pitcher down upon the battlements.

“Tonight, we spill wine, not blood. And tomorrow the sun will rise,” he replied. “Until then, we rejoice. The night is young and we are not dead yet.” She grinned and held out her cup, and he toasted to that, clinking the metal goblets together. And then they both drank to not being dead yet, and it all felt normal again.

She felt the soft warmth of hope, of a world that was not drowned in danger and darkness, and crossed her arms about herself, finishing off her wine. And then she glanced to Zevran, considering him a moment, and shook her head.

“Do you think there will ever come a day when there will be no darkness left to fight?” she asked him quietly. He just gave her a small little smile.

“ _Bella_ , you are the light in this world. So long as you walk the earth, there will also be a chance at peace.” He gave her a very small smile, and set down his goblet on the parapet. “You gave me hope when I had none. You gave me purpose and direction when all seemed lost. Perhaps, sometimes, you are allowed to think of a day when there will be no duty left.” She grinned, looking away then.

“The horror,” she replied with a gentle laugh, “to think of a day when my duty is done.” He nodded beside her, a knowing smile on his face.

“Yes. And what ever will you do then?” Eideann simply sighed and shook her head.

“Find a new duty,” she told him. “Find a new way.”

And somewhere, somehow, perhaps at last find some peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WYNNE, FIONA, and the ARCHITECT:
> 
> The timeline for Fiona is a bit odd, but given she and the others had their first encounter with the Architect about 20-25 years prior to the Fifth Blight, Wynne would probably have been in the Circle then (her age just makes that a fact, she was taken to the Circle when she was a child - 8 I think). This means the events of the Calling happened while Wynne was at the tower. Fiona could not be Joined again, and after they realized this was the case they cast her out and sent her back to the Tower, which is why she gave up Alistair to Maric before she went. She could not raise a child in the Circle, it's against the rules. That being the case, it was assumed that Fiona returned to the Circle about 20-25 years ago, and has since been made First Enchanter to the Circle of Montsimmard. She becomes Grand Enchanter in, presumably, 9:36ish when the College of Enchanters is dissolved due to her election. A snap meeting happens a year later in 9:37, when they try to vote for independence from the Chantry, and that kicks off all the Inquisition Mage-Templar war. So...at this point she is not yet Grand Enchanter, but is probably First Enchanter of Montsimmard.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann bids farewell to a few friends; an encounter with Nida leaves Eideann questioning herself; Delilah confronts Nathaniel with the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: mentions of domestic violence (not explicit)
> 
> Comments always welcome :)

It was in the company of Wynne, Shale, and Zevran that they journeyed to the City of Amaranthine the next day bright and early. For once, the sun was shining down, making it uncharacteristically bright for late fall and early winter in the Coastlands. Eideann did not complain. She just squinted against the sunlight, rolled her shoulders beneath the heavy pauldrons of her Warden Commander armor.

She could feel the sweat tricking down the back of her neck and closed her eyes before wiping it away with her gauntleted hand. It did not help. 

All the same, it felt good to be on the road again, on horseback, clad in armor, and with purpose. She had her blades in place, just in case, but she intended to check on what progress had been made with the smugglers. 

She was relieved to find, as they approached the main gate a few hours later, that the refugees collected outside the city were significantly less in population now. That was a good start, at least. She hoped that meant many of the people had returned to the farmholds with her increased security patrols and the trade restored now Velanna and the darkspawn had been dealt with. By now, news would have reached both Amaranthine and Denerim of the reestablishment of trade. She was certain that wagons would become a far more common sight from thereon out. 

She found out for certain when they dismounted at the stables and turned their horses over to the grooms waiting for them. She was just gathering her things from her saddlebags when Captain Aidan came out to meet her, seeming a little rushed. 

“Majesty,” he called giving a bow. “I had…I had meant to send word.” Eideann considered him, then motioned for him to rise, sliding into courtly manners instead of military ones. He straightened, meeting her gaze. “We had news that the Wending Wood situation had been handled,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “We are grateful for your help in assisting with the defense of the farmholds and the securing of the lands for the refugees to return home, and we are equally grateful for your assistance in the restoration of trade.” Eideann gave him a flat look.

“The point, Captain.” He started, then cleared his throat.

“I have not been able to find the smugglers’ base. We have had very little luck in convincing any of those detained to speak. And my guardsmen have not been nearly so helpful in tracking down the culprits as previously thought. I wonder if perhaps some of them may have been bought, Majesty.” Eideann sighed, glancing away, trying not to be irritated with a man who clearly was not prepared for an actual guardsman job with actual people. She wondered exactly what his credentials were and if he was newly appointed to the position after the Blight had swept the Coastlands. It was entirely possible that his predecessor had been a victim of the Blights too, just as Thomas Howe had fallen. The Blight had reached even Amaranthine, though the effects had until those last few weeks unknown. With darkspawn in the area now, however, she was left wondering. 

She simply pursed her lips a moment, considering, then glanced back to the man, sidelong. He felt the threat and gave a nervous bow of head. 

“So be it, Captain, I shall handle it myself.” She glanced over towards Zevran who was patting his mount’s neck and listening to the conversation with his usual tact. He gave her a bow of head when their eyes met and she beckoned to him to cross towards her. “I wonder, my friend, if you may have heard news of these smugglers? Raiders perhaps? Along the coast.”

“Felicisima Armada, I would think,” Zevran said, crossing his arm. “Perhaps I might hear some news of them in the city.”

“There are some coves that may prove accessible for trafficking,” Nathaniel said, crossing to join them. Eideann’s gaze slid to him and he gave her a nod.

“I imagine they have more…influential allies if they are entrenched,” she said quietly to them both. “I imagine we shall encounter those they work with in our day to day business, though I have my suspicions.”

“You always do,” Nathaniel said simply, pushing beyond her, hand on the hilt of the half-sword at his hip. He had taken to carrying it as well as his bow. She did not mind. Eideann watched him, then gave a nod to Zevran, who bowed his head before following Nathaniel towards the city. 

“We shall follow up on what leads we can uncover, Captain,” she told Captain Aidan who was looking somewhat abashed at being outclassed by three people. He followed her then as she turned towards the gates. 

“I appreciate any assistance you may give me, Commander. Many of my men are new to this. The darkspawn incursions have caused…difficulties for us, the same as everywhere I imagine. New recruits can prove…raw when it comes to finding information.”

“And corruptible. Or overzealous. Or smugglers in the first place, I imagine,” Eideann said curtly. “I shall report to you once we have anything substantial, Captain. Now, if you don’t mind, I must see my friends here off on their travels, and I have business to take care of in the City proper.” She swept past him them with a sigh, leaving him bowing and making his excuses, swords at her back. She heard the sound of Shayle following and smiled a little to herself.

Amaranthine itself was still busy. Many of the refugees had gone home, but the uptick in trade meant many of those who had stayed in the farmholds on the Plains had now come to see what the City market was offering with the blockages along the Pilgrim’s Path finally dealt with. Not to mention, with Fergus having reclaimed Highever, there would be a restoration of trade from the rest of the Coastlands too, predominantly by vessel. 

Eideann could smell the sea over the scents of the city, and took a deep breath of it, making her way up along the upper terraces towards the Amaranthine docks where Wynne and Shayle meant to book passage northward. Zevran and Nathaniel were up ahead, but Zevran slipped away as they approached the lane of small fisherman and sailor taverns, disappearing off somewhere to find more information either on her smuggler situation or the conspiracy against her. Nathaniel was checking the market stalls along the wharf for news of Delilah, she knew, stopping every so often to exchange a few words. Wynne, pacing quietly beside Eideann, watched him with interest.

“That young man is an interesting one,” she finally said, glancing sidelong to Eideann with a knowing glance. Eideann looked back, meeting her gaze.

“He is a Howe,” she said simply, “for all the good and ill it means.” Wynne gave a secretive little smile, shaking her head.

“I think you respect him a little.” Eideann paused so they would not get too close to Nathaniel in that moment, turning deliberately to the elderly mage and fixing her with a frank look.

“Everyone may know how highly I respect and esteem Nathaniel Howe. The father was my enemy. The son is my ally. And one day, he may even agree to that himself.” Wynne gave her a demure nod of head, a bit like a bow but coming from Wynne that seemed ridiculous, and then turned away, glancing down the pier. 

“I believe this is where we part ways then, my friend,” she said after a moment before looking back. “It was good to see you.” 

“Assuming this doesn’t end me, will you be back for the wedding?” Eideann asked quietly. Wynne just smiled properly this time and nodded. 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she announced. Then she drew a deep breath. “Watch over Alistair, My Lady. And…keep your eye on Anders. He has always been…difficult.” 

“Wynne…” Eideann sighed, but the old woman held up her hand, ending the conversation before it could truly begin.

“Just heed my warnings for once, young one.” Eideann smiled ever so slightly and then stepped forward, wrapping her arms about the wiry woman, burying her head in the woman’s shoulder. Wynne’s hand came up to gently pat her hair. “There now,” she said, drawing back, “things have a habit of working out as they’re supposed to.” Eideann just nodded, then glanced to Shayle who was skulking about a few paces away. 

“Take care of her, won’t you?” she asked, and the golem grimaced. 

“The elder mage does not need me to care for it. The elder mage will insist it is fine until the day it dies.” Eideann just grinned, then shook her head.

“I wish you luck, Shayle. I hope they can help you. And I hope this is not the last time we cross paths,” she said kindly. Shayle just gave a harrumph and then rocked a little in place.

“It like squishy feelings too much,” came the reply. Eideann smirked.

“Don’t get eaten by any sea monsters,” she said in mock seriousness. “Irony would dictate I’d end up having to kill another giant beast.” Shayle’s eyes glittered a little, the purple crystals flickering with what appeared to be amusement, and then the golem turned away. 

“There may be hope for it yet,” she said. Eideann watched as the pair of them drew away then, making their way down the pier towards the docks to find a ship and book passage. 

Nathaniel was waiting when at last she turned away, arms crossed, a few steps away, watching her with solemn eyes. 

“Cousland,” he said quietly.

“Any luck?” she asked, and he shook his head. She sighed, giving him a glum little smile. “We will keep looking. She is here somewhere,” she told him with certainty. Where else would she be? She was married to a shopkeeper. 

“Your friend Zevran went down to the Lane of Wares to see if he could find any of the smuggler operation’s front men,” Nathaniel explained, crossing his arms as she turned back to him and began the walk down towards the markets. “Do you think he’ll have luck.”

“Undoubtedly,” Eideann said simply. “Just give him time to work and he will get results. He was once involved in the assassination of an Antivan Prince.” Her smile faded and her brows knitted a moment. “Before we head that way, I’d like to find Keenan’s wife and let her know he is safe. She may come back with us, and we still have Wynne’s horse left if she chooses to do so.” Nathaniel nodded, then motioned down one of the upper terrace streets. 

“He said she was staying in one of the taverns along the upper terrace,” he directed. She let him lead then, since he knew the way better than she. This had been his home after all. 

The terraces were crowded, and a meandering mess of straight rows that crisscrossed up and down the hills that skirted the plains up to the Waking Sea. Nathaniel seemed certain of his footing, and for that she was glad, because she did not have the best sense of the City yet, and it left her available to keep an eye out for problems. They followed the path, higher into the city towards the Chantry of Our Lady Redeemer which was echoing with the Chant of Light even at the far end of the street.

“You…you and King Alistair…” Eideann glanced up, wary, and found Nathaniel avoiding her gaze a little. She narrowed her eyes and he shifted awkwardly beside her. “Is it…normal for Wardens to marry? I mean…Keenan having a wife, and…I just thought…I’ve never heard of Wardens…I mean…”

“I think Wardens find whatever happiness we can,” Eideann said quietly. “I love Alistair, so much it hurts, but…our marriage is for Ferelden, not us.” Nathaniel glanced to her then, something in his eye. And she shook her head. “Why…have someone in mind do you?” He looked away, saying nothing, his face betraying nothing.

 _A courtier’s face, that one._ Eideann gave a small smile, then ran a hand through her hair, glancing up. 

“Ah! Here it is,” she said, catching sight of the swinging sign announcing the entrance to one of the many inns. The sign looked hurriedly painted over. Eideann eyed it suspiciously, shaking her head.

“It _was_ the Brown Bear,” Nathaniel said simply, his tone flat. His house sigil then. “Apparently they liked the idea of you more.” Eideann narrowed her gaze at the hastily painted griffon crowned in laurels. 

“The Crowned Griffon?” she said in a tone as flat as his. He quirked a slight smile at her. She sighed. “Well, innkeepers don’t need to be creative I suppose. Just…good at keeping inns.” She carefully pushed her way inside. 

The tavern was mostly empty. It was still midmorning and those with business in the city would be about it rather than back on the high terrace for their meals. Anyone making a pilgrimage would have gone to the Chantry by now. That being the case, the innkeeper, a homely woman with bright green eyes and a mass of thick curls piled high on her head, bustled over to them, sweeping a bow. 

“Grey Wardens! Maker, what an honor!” she declared. Her eyes lit on them, and Nathaniel gave a soft shrug. The woman clearly had no idea who either of them were. The Crowned Griffon was more to appeal to the new Warden clientele apparently and not out of any particularly loyalist sentiment. “Will you be needing lodgings? Food? We’ve got a few fish caught fresh this morning, and the cook got her hands on carrots and onions at the market as well, so we’ll be serving fish pie for cheap. We’re known for our fish pies here, sers. And we can get you a nice cup of West Hill brandy, or even some weak ale if you want something lighter. I’ve got two types of rooms available at the moment – ” Eideann gave a smile, shaking her head.

“Thank you for all the kind offers, Madam,” she said gratefully. “We actually came looking for someone. Family of one of our associates? A woman called Nida. Do you know if she is still here.” The woman’s eyes held a flicker of fear and concern.

“Aye, she is,” she said a little warily. “Is she expecting you?” She looked them over then. Eideann sighed, doing her best to appear unintimidating. 

“Madam, my name is Queen Eideann Cousland, Commander of the Grey. I have news of her husband.” The woman’s eyes grew wide and she panicked before sweeping a curtsy so low that her nose almost touched the floor.

“Oh, Your Majesty! I did not recognize you! I thought…Maker, forgive me. Mistress Nida asked not to be disturbed you see. She has…she’s entertaining company at the moment, and…” Eideann glanced to Nathaniel, then bent down until she could glance into the woman’s face.

“Stand, please…” she said softly, keeping her voice kind, putting on a smile. “I don’t require bows or curtsies, Madam. And this is your roof, not mine.” 

“Maker’s breath! The Queen in my establishment!” the woman declared, rising so quickly she probably ended up dizzy by Eideann’s best account. The woman looked quite flustered.

“Might you show us to Mistress Nida, Madam?” The innkeeper nodded, hurriedly motioning for them to follow her up the steps to the upper floors. Eideann glanced back to Nathaniel, then followed, as the innkeeper muttered to herself in a fuss. 

The inn was neat and well-kept, everything richly decorated in dark wood and plain wools. It was tidy and orderly, but still simplistic enough to escape the notice of most visitors. It was clearly meant for travelers or merchants, pilgrims and not soldiers or nobility. But Eideann took a liking to it, and decided to remember the place to recommend should the situation ever become necessary. 

The woman led them down towards the last door in the corridor, where she paused and rapped on the wood with her knuckles. And then she rapped again.

“Mistress Nida! Mistress Nida, there are guests for you...” There was the sound of scuffling and Eideann pursed her lips a little, waiting. “Mistress Nida! Mistress Nida…”

“I told you no visitors!” a woman called, and Eideann sighed. 

“Milady, it’s her Majesty, the Grey Queen.” There was a gasp and Eideann grimaced before the Madam backed away from the door just in time. It burst open and Nida peered out, eyes wide, staring into the hall. Her lips were parted, and she looked frightened a moment, and then a little angry. Her hair looked hurriedly pulled back from her face. 

“I…” She looked Eideann up and down. “You’re…you’re her? The Grey Queen.” 

“Don’t you have enough titles by now?” Nathaniel muttered. Eideann hushed him with a quiet look, then glanced back to Nida. The woman had eyes the color of rich soil during the spring harvests. She was wearing a modest peasant’s gown and a bodice of soft and worn leather. 

And then a man appeared in the doorway beside her, tall and a little imposing, clad in simple merchant’s cotton and a doublet of blue satin. He looked at her suspiciously.

“Is there something you want?” he asked. Nida looked to him, and he caught her warning gaze.

“Bran, she’s the Queen.” Nida’s voice was quiet, concerned. Bran, the man, glanced back warily. Eideann fixed them with a look. 

“I am also Warden-Commander of Ferelden,” she said softly. Nida hesitated. 

“I see. This…must be about Keenan then.” She glanced to Bran then, laying her hand on his arm, and bit her lip a moment. “I…sweetheart, could you give us a moment alone.” Bran considered the woman, then Eideann and Nathaniel, before giving a bow to Eideann and stepping out into the hall beyond them. The innkeeper looked warily between all three before stepping back. Nida held the door open wider, bowing her head, so Eideann took that as an invitation and entered the chamber, Nathaniel at her heels. And then Nida shut the door behind them.

There was a small bed against one wall, the same dark wood as before and the same simple plain wool blankets. The glass had slid over the years until it was thicker at the bottom, and there were whorls in the glass in some of the panes. Eideann considered it a moment, then turned to look at Nida who still stood head bowed in submission. Eideann’s gaze flickered to Nathaniel, who stood with his arms crossed by the door watching them both. 

“Is…is Keenan dead?” Nida finally asked, her voice hesitating. There was an inherent conflict in her tone. Eideann did not miss it. She swallowed, considering the woman a moment, fixing her with that Cousland stare. This was not what she had been expecting. It made her…uncomfortable.

“No,” Nathaniel finally said for her, tiring of the silence. “In fact, your husband is currently recovering from injuries taken battling the darkspawn at the siege of Vigil’s Keep and the Battle of the Wending Wood. He is expected to make a decent recovery.” The guilt on Nida’s face was clear. She grimaced and looked away, squinting. 

Eideann reached into the pouch at her belt and pulled forth the golden band Keenan had given her the evening prior. She held it up, considering it, and Nida fixated on it, eyes dark and unsteady. 

“His wedding ring,” she said softly. “You said he was alive…”

“How alive is any Warden really?” Eideann said softly, but her voice was firm. She forced Nida to meet her eyes across the chamber. Something twisted in Nida’s face.

“Will you tell him?” 

“That depends on what you tell me,” Eideann finally said. Nida crossed her arms about herself, hunching her shoulders.

“Keenan always said he’d joined the Wardens to give me a better life. Was it really better for me to be alone in a strange country, wondering if we’d ever have a family?!” she spat bitterly. There was venom there, old wounds. Eideann froze.

_Alone._

_Family._

She saw her hand was shaking, so she lowered it carefully, taking pains to control her own muscles, and pocketed the ring, wetting her lips.

Was that not how it was though? Was that not how it always might be? She was there now, far from Alistair, and he far from her. Any chance they may have had for the heir the kingdom wanted – no _needed_ – was gone now because of Urthemiel and the Blight. A Warden was a sacrifice. Always. And where did that leave her. She felt the usual pain settle in her stomach and tried not to move her hand over it. Instead, she looked away.

“To defeat the darkspawn,” she told Nida in a voice barely above a whisper, “we must all make sacrifices. Not just Wardens, and now more than ever.”

“Keenan made the sacrifice willingly,” Nida said coldly, channeling anger for a life of promises stolen away by that sacrifice. “He never asked me if I felt the same.” And then she met Eideann’s eyes, a quiet knowing in them, a soft resolution of a steeled mind. “Love can only take you so far,” she said. Eideann drew a breath. Love was all she had left. Love and duty. Love and sacrifice. She had to cling to love. 

“So you will do what?” Nathaniel finally said a little shortly. His eyes were cold. “Hide away here like a coward instead of telling the man you no longer love him?” 

“I do love him!” Nida said sharply, wheeling on him. “I love Keenan. But I cannot live a life as if I am already dead!” Eideann wet her lips.

“Does he know?” she asked Nida quietly. The woman just met her gaze. Eideann gave a single mirthless laugh, looking away bitterly. For the first time in a long time she was thinking of Morrigan and Alistair and it set a sharp ache in her heart that she could not will away. Her eyes went cold, hard, and she glanced up. “Mistress Nida, your husband is a good man. I am proud to have him in my order. And whatever lies between you, he is owed the truth.” Nida met her gaze briefly, then let it drop to the carpets.

“Your Majesty,” she said simply, stepping out of the way. “I wish to be left alone now.” Eideann turned away, then swept across the carpets and left the woman standing with her back to the door. Nathaniel followed her. In the corridor, Bran was waiting, leaning against a wall, eyes narrow.

“Majesty,” he said in a quiet voice, only just on the respectful side of terse. He gave a bow as Eideann passed.

In the common room, the Madam of the inn looked wary and nervous. Eideann thanked her gently, forcing herself to be courteous, and complimented the woman on her tidy establishment before leaving the oppressive atmosphere behind. It did not bury the feelings for her. She could not shake the images of dark hair and yellow eyes, panting breath that was not hers, and Alistair’s gentle moans. She felt tears prick her eyes.

Nathaniel Howe caught her arm.

“Cousland,” he said, and that was grounding in its own way. She froze, then glanced back, and he met her gaze with concern. “What now? What will we tell him?” 

“The truth. I have enough secrets already, Nate,” she sniffed, pulling her arm free. He looked surprised, like he had not really recognized he had grabbed it. He simply sighed, shaking his head.

“Maker, what a mess…” He fixed her with a look. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“No you don’t, Nate…” she murmured.

“That won’t be you and King Alistair. That woman gave up on him.”

“That woman lost an entire lifetime of dreams because of a sacrifice he chose for them both,” Eideann said quietly. “I won’t judge her for that.” She looked at the stone pavement, loose dust gathering on her black boots from all the walking. “Alistair never wanted to be King of Ferelden. It was his worst nightmare. I put him on the throne. All he ever wanted was a family. I murdered our baby and we will never have another. He found a home in the Wardens. I’m the one doing all the work for the Wardens. Tell me how I am not very much the same, Nate. Tell me.” Her gaze was a challenge. He caught hold of her wrist in tight fingers. 

“You saved Ferelden, and that entire time _he stood with you_!” he hissed. “For a Teryn’s daughter, you find a lot of things to complain about, don’t you?!” That drew her up short. She froze, staring at his eyes, and he tore his hand away, raking his fingers through his hair and mussing it a little as he looked away. “I should not have grabbed you,” he muttered a half-hearted apology. “And I should not have made light of your concerns.” 

“No…” she shook her head, a little dazed. “No, I…I needed someone to put it into perspective. Thank you.” She looked away then, falling silent.

“Cousland, you know as well as I that some people are called to serve. It does not make that sacrifice less. We were raised to understand that all decisions come with costs, and isn’t it the duty of Wardens to make the difficult decisions, knowing the costs, knowing the consequences?” She glanced up at him through her lashes, considering his profile, and then swallowed, nodding. 

Of course, he was right. How could he be otherwise? She had learned those lessons from her father, Bryce Cousland, who had learned them in turn from his time fostering in South Reach with the Brylands. Nathaniel Howe’s mother had instilled him with the very same lessons Bryce had given her. A Cousland always did their duty first. And so did a Bryland. And so, she had to admit, did a Howe. 

And so did every Warden she had ever known.

She pursed her lips.

“Come on,” he suggested quietly, finally looking back to her. “Let’s…go see if your assassin friend has found anything of note regarding these smugglers. We can at least do something useful with the day.” Eideann released the breath she did not realize she was holding and then nodded, motioning for him to lead on. He considered her a moment, then nodded and turned right down the street towards the Chantry of Our Lady Redeemer. Eideann forced the dark thoughts away, focusing instead on the dull ache of Highever and the quiet memories of lessons at her father’s knee in days that seemed a lifetime ago.

She almost missed it then when the Chantry doors swung wide ahead and a woman emerged onto the steps. But Nathaniel did not miss it. He hesitated at the sight, enough that Eideann glanced to him and snapped to attention, and then he hurried forward, crying out.

“Delilah? Delilah!” The woman looked up.

Delilah Howe was dressed in simple shopkeeper’s garb, a rough woven gown and a laced jerkin. When last Eideann had seen her, she had had hair halfway down her back, but now it was cropped short at her jawline and fell a little in her fact. Her grey Coastland eyes flickered to Eideann a moment, curious, and concerned, and then back to Nathaniel, scanning his Grey Warden scout’s armor and then giving a soft gasp.

“Nathaniel?!” she cried, and hurried forward, meeting him at the top of the Chantry steps. He had taken them in several bounds. Eideann warily drew close, to the bottom of the steps, and Delilah shook her head in disbelief. “I had feared the worst,” she gasped, voice soft and gentle. Nathaniel shook his head, catching her in a quick embrace, closing his eyes tightly like he thought he may wake up.

“Oh Delilah…times must have been hard,” he breathed. She drew back a little. He took in all of her then, her peasant’s clothing and her cropped hair, and there was a flicker of sadness in his eyes atop the steps that made a chill run through Eideann. “You can do better than this,” he said quietly, face twisted into a mask of despair and lamentation. A flicker of confusion went through Delilah, who met his gaze a moment, and she took a small step backwards, wrapping her arms about herself. 

Eideann recognized that motion. Her breath caught a little. When she glanced up to Delilah’s face again, the woman was watching her with careful eyes. Nathaniel looked between them, then shook his head again. “Come back to the estate again,” he said quietly, beseechingly. “At least until we find somewhere else.” 

Delilah pursed her lips, shaking her head this time, and that confused him more than anything apparently. Delilah carefully stepped down two steps, then glanced back to him. 

“Nate, I can’t…” He grimaced, taking a few steps to put himself in her path again, his eyes shining with desperation.

“Yes you _can_ , Delilah. We’ll put it right. We’ll do whatever we have to…” he tried. 

“Nate…” She stepped around him and descended the steps. He followed her.

“Delilah. I know it’s been difficult. All that can be behind you. We can see you’re comfortably established, and – ”

“Nathaniel, I can’t,” Delilah said a little more forcefully. 

“Why?” he asked quietly. Delilah paused on the flagstones before Eideann, who took a careful step forward.

“She’s with child,” Eideann said quietly. Delilah’s gaze flashed a little, confused again, and wary, and Nathaniel stared. 

“What?! Who - ?!” Delilah drew a wary breath.

“Nate, I didn’t marry Albert out of desperation,” she said firmly. Albert was her husband then apparently, the shopkeeper. Nathaniel had frozen on the bottom step, fists clenched at his sides, lips parted, like he were the one baffled by it all. Delilah gave him a quiet smile. “I love him, Nate…” she said softly. He gritted his teeth, looking uncomfortable. Delilah glanced to Eideann, giving a quiet bow of head. “Your Majesty,” she murmured in greeting. Eideann gave a little bow back.

“Lady Delilah,” she replied in equally soft tones. Nathaniel watched the exchange carefully, then finally stepped down onto the flagstones with them. 

“You…you’re happy.” Delilah gave him a sad little smile, pressing her hand to her belly with a gentle care. 

“After father…” she paused, a flicker of concern shooting through her gaze, and then she blinked it away, glancing up. “I was so glad to get away from his evil. This life…it isn’t what we grew up with, I know. But it’s so much better, Nathaniel. I have my own house, and a loving and gentle husband, and soon a family. I am due in the spring. It is as she says. I am with child.” Nathaniel hesitated, looking away, then back again, then away again, and then back once more. 

“Father’s evil? Isn’t that overstating things a little?” he asked cautiously. “What…What are you…?” Delilah’s smile slipped and her eyes went hard. She glanced warily to Eideann a moment, who bowed her head and stepped away. Better to not be involved in that conversation. Delilah raised her chin, her free hand clenching into a fist, and Eideann noticed it was shaking a little.

“He got caught up in politics,” Nathaniel insisted bitterly. Delilah shook her head.

“No, and you know better,” she said in a voice like ice. “You want the culprit that destroyed our family? It was him without question.” Nathaniel looked like he had taken a blow. Like part of him had always taken a blow. Delilah stood her ground, watching him in silence. Nathaniel’s gaze narrowed, and he could not focus on anything. Instead, he finally sank into a seat on the Chantry steps, crossing his arms and leaning over his knees. 

“I…”

“You saw how he treated Mother. And when she died, that was how he treated me. Thomas did not care. He went off drinking and whoring until the Blight took him. For the first time in my life, I am happy, Nathaniel, and free of all of that darkness,” Delilah told him quietly. “You knew. You were just too young to understand. And when you may have understood, you were too determined to win his love.” She looked away. “None of us ever had his love. He was too afraid of being less than he was that he did not have the time to love us. But he did have the time to hate anything that reminded him he would never be what his ancestors had been.” Nathaniel’s lips twisted into a sneer and he shook his head. Delilah swallowed, then turned quietly and took a careful seat beside him. He bowed lower, hanging his head, and she reached carefully to wrap an arm about him, her look sad. Eideann closed her eyes and turned away.

“I…I thought…sometimes I thought I had imagined it. I convinced myself that it was not so bad.” His sister nodded, silent and gentle. Nathaniel looked up angrily, but it was anger at himself for letting it go unanswered for so long. “I thought…if I could just be good enough, just be worthy of…of…”

“You are a Grey Warden, a hero. And you are making our homeland safe again. There is nothing you need to prove. You are already the best of us,” Delilah told him. “I am proud of you. And I am glad you are home again.” He shook his head.

“I should have done something!” he raged, looking away, snarling. “I should have…protected Mother. Protected _you_!” Delilah wet her lips.

“You were in danger as much as I, brother,” she finally said. “And you are protecting me now. You are making a better world for your nephews and nieces. Maker willing, this will only be the first. And we will show them what a loving family really is.” She hesitated. “You will…you will come back, won’t you? Visit us? Meet Albert?” He glanced to her with a small smile, catching her hand.

“Of course,” he told her firmly. “Of course I will, Delilah!” Eideann gave a slight smile and leaned back against the wall of the nearest tavern, giving them both their space. Her own thoughts were full of Fergus and Alistair and her lost family and Keenan and Nida and so many choices that all added up to so many worries and so many lost paths.

 _The duty of those who lead is to serve,_ she thought quietly, as if Bryce Cousland was there murmuring lessons to her in the high terrace street. And then she thought of a different Bryce Cousland, one who had watched her weep on her knees in the Temple of Sacred Ashes. _No more must you grieve, my girl. Take the pain and the guilt, acknowledge it, and let it go. It is time._ She closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the wall, feeling the soft tickle of the wind and the warmth of the sun on her face.

How long she stayed like that, she did not know, but when it was done she had regained a measure of peace. The calm that had settled over her had made the world seem brighter, louder, more vibrant. She drew a breath and listened to the noise it made as it drew through her mouth and nose. And then she let it all out, released everything else with it. Her hand curled about her fingers, toying with her silverite and iron ring, and she let herself smile ever so slightly.

 _It is time._

There was the sound of someone approaching, and she glanced over to see Nathaniel and Delilah cautiously making their way to her. Delilah gave a slight curtsy, and Eideann gave her a little smile and a nod and a soldier’s bow back. And then Delilah kissed Nathaniel’s cheek and bade him farewell, leaving them alone again as she departed their company to return home to her wonderful new husband. Eideann watched her go a moment, and then glanced to Nathaniel, who was also watching her as she disappeared around the corner. And then he finally sighed.

“She seems…happy,” he finally said, musingly. And then his brows lowered a little. “She told me…she told me what my father did, the misery he caused while I was away. She…told me about Highever. And…and Denerim.” He glanced to her then. She saw the pain raw and sore in his eyes, and forced herself to meet them, to show him all the pain in her. She thought of her father bleeding out on the larder floor. She thought of Ser Gilmore holding the gates. She thought of Oren and Oriana lying in a pool of blood on the floor. And he read all that hurt in her as much as she read the hurt in him. And then she saw the ghost of tears clouding in his gaze. “I…I still can’t believe it…” he finally breathed. Eideann wanted to close her eyes, to look away, but she could not. This had to happen now. This needed to happen now.

“He murdered my family to get what he wanted,” she said in a voice that shook. 

“I thought he had his reasons,” Nathaniel said darkly, glancing up to the rooftops of Amaranthine. “It was a war for Andraste’s sake.” He shook his head bitterly. “Before I went to the Free Marches, he was never…” But then he stopped himself, giving a soft sigh and closing his eyes like it was too much to admit it. Eideann wanted to look away, still wanted to close her eyes and banish the thoughts. She didn’t. She simply kept staring at him. “How could he have changed so much?” Nathaniel asked, a rhetorical question, but she answered it all the same. Her voice was low, steadier this time.

“Maybe,” she said in a very measured tone, “he was never who you thought he was.” He met her gaze, his own shining with unshed tears, and her own vision blurred a little at the ache in her own heart. 

“I suppose not,” he finally said and swallowed hard, biting his lip then forcing himself to draw a cleansing breath. “I wish I had known some of this sooner. I feel like such a _fool_!” Eideann finally let herself close her eyes, and he swung about, shoulders rising and falling as he fought back the rage and the anger and the betrayal and the shame of it all. And then finally he turned back, and his eyes were damp with tears, and he let her see them, trusted her with it.

_Be as loyal as you can to your brothers…_

“I…owe you an apology, Eideann.” Her lips parted. He grimaced a little, then drew a breath. It hitched a little as he did so, and he fought to keep it steady. Eideann just shook her head.

“No…there is no need,” she finally said softly. “It’s fine.” She did not need an apology. She had murdered his father and cast his family into disgrace. He had been right, after all, to blame her for that. And he had served under her anyway. 

“There _is_ a need,” he insisted. “It’s _not_ fine.” She was quiet then, so he met her Cousland gaze. She felt suddenly very weary. “When I returned from the Free Marches, I was certain my family had been destroyed for being on the wrong side of the war. But my father did it to himself.” His voice was like venom. "No conspiracies. Just one stupid, selfish man.” Eideann’s lips parted a little, but she did not speak. Nathaniel glared at her, but it was not meant for her. She understood that it was meant for the past that lay between them, the blood they had needed to walk through to come to this point. “I should have known better.” 

“How could you?” she said quietly, shaking her head. She would not allow him to take the blame now. She had not allowed him to take it before. He gave her a mirthless smirk, then looked away.

“I should have dug deeper before I acted,” he said firmly. “I was an idiot. And like a child I blamed you.” He ran a hand over his hair to smooth it down. “And here you’ve even proven to be a friend of sorts, or am I reading that wrong too.” Eideann paused, long enough to give him pause. His gaze slid to her sidelong, and she considered him, his eyes Coastland grey, noble son of a northern family, raised just as she had been on duty and service. Behind him, the Chant of Light echoed quietly from the cathedral and Eideann listened to it a moment before drawing a breath.

“You were never my enemy,” she said quietly, meeting his gaze at last. “And I often think I have too few real friends.” Something in Nathaniel Howe eased at that. It had not been a real acknowledgement, but then it did not need to be. It was enough. Let things be as they would be. Time was the only thing that healed all wounds. 

“So be it,” he said quietly, giving her a soldier’s bow, slight, fit for an Arl’s son. Then he did smile, a slight thing that touched only the corners of his mouth, and he shook his head a little with a soft chuckle. “You know, when you first conscripted me, I would not have thought I’d end up liking it.” She too gave a soft laugh at that, looking away, and something in her warmed a little, that calm settling in deep within, a gentle glow that soothed old injuries of the heart and mind and soul.

“It does tend to grow on you,” she admitted, “When Duncan first recruited me, I hated him. Now I’m doing his job.” Nathaniel smirked, then motioned with his eyes towards the street.

“Shall we, Cousland?” he asked, his eyes a question. She smiled slightly, meeting that gaze, then nodded, holding her hand up as an invitation.

“After you, Howe.” 

Yes time really did heal all wounds, or at least make them less than they once were. She gave the slightest of smiles, thinking again of her father.

 _Yes,_ she thought, _it is time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a few alterations to the Nathaniel/Delilah conversation to keep it in line with previously established story. As mentioned, there are hints in game that Rendon Howe treated Eliane Bryland (his wife) very poorly, and he definitely treated Nathaniel poorly as well in subtext, so that theme is simply expanded on a little and acknowledged in this story.
> 
> Nida obviously needed a different approach since Keenan is still alive in this story (and actually died in game), so...hopefully that turned out alright. 
> 
> For this story, the City of Amaranthine is larger than just the square you explore in game. Given it served as the capital of Ferelden for awhile during the Orlesian Occupation and was a main port for Orlesian forces and trade, it doesn't make sense for it to be so small, so...logic dictates it has more to it. :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric goes hunting for business partners and finds a promising lead; Eideann deals with some smugglers with help from Zevran and Nathaniel; Seneschal Varel discusses the annual Satinalia preparations, and Eideann gets a few ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Violence
> 
> Comments always welcome. :)

The slums of Darktown stank of filth and decay and the raw unwashed bodies of the desolate and disreputable. Varric strode through, avoiding the human waste that lined the corridors, and thanked Andraste it was early winter at last and Kirkwall did not have the weather to make it smell worse. There were flies and rodents, of course, but even these were in abatement with the colder and more temperate weather crossing the Waking Sea. He was no fan of winter, and Kirkwall did not have a true winter in any case, but he was glad when the cool breezes washed over a choppy sea and settled all the chaos that was the filth of the Undercity into a sort of still order. 

He made it a point not to visit often. Even with his contacts primarily operating in the Undercity, Varric had no inclination to check up on them there in the sewers. The Undercity was where you went if you were too poor to even live in Lowtown. Lay your head on a pile of shit and tuck in for the night. If you were lucky, you could eat food from the floor.

It was the realm of the crime lords, Carta and Coterie alike. Look at anyone wrong and you were as like to be stabbed in the guts and left to die as your friends rifled through your coin purse. Varric kept his distance, his swagger showing for all the world to see that he knew exactly what he was doing there, and so people left him well enough alone.

He wouldn’t be there at all if not for the word of a few of his Coterie contacts. The Coterie itself had already put some money up for Bartrand’s Deep Roads expedition. They were not going to give up more, and he knew that without even asking. But some of their contacts might. 

As a general rule, the Coterie did not maintain ties with its competitors. But every good businessman knew that someone somewhere was talking to someone somewhere, and that the information highway was never still. Varric was a master at travelling that highway.

He had been turned away from a meeting with Harlan, current sitting crime-lord of the Coterie, with the curt dismissal he had expected. And, as he had expected, he had been caught on his way out by an ex-mercenary called Lilley who had told him to look for contacts of a certain smuggler called Athrenril, who had been crossing blades with the local mercenary troop the Red Iron after several of her smuggling runs used some Red Iron people on the side. Athenril was a good judge of people, and she had been slowly creeping up under the Coterie over the last year or so. Her primary influence was still small enough that the Coterie let her grow a bit like a weed between paving stones for the moment. In time, she would get too big, and they would have to trample her back down. But for the moment she was doing them a favor by pissing off Meeran, the sellsword Captain of the Red Iron. Meeran, it appeared, had not been paying his bills at the Blooming Rose lately, and that made Harlan annoyed. 

There were only some places in the city to find smugglers, and that was down in the Undercity, but even there it was hard to find those that were on the lay-low from the Coterie. Lilley’s information had only gotten him so far. She had sent him to Tomwise, a poison brewer who operated a small stall down in Darktown for the riffraff that loitered in the area. He had no specific allegiances, making his coin from the only honest living he had amidst a den of thieves. That being the case, he was not constrained by Coterie ties, and he was not loyal to the sort like Athenril either. If anyone could point him towards the sort of people Athrenil had been hiring for her incredibly lucrative work, there Varric would find people capable of fronting the costs of an expedition and daring enough to try. 

The Red Iron had a fearsome reputation, even if their Captain Meeran was more often than not finding himself drinking and whoring at the Rose. The mercenaries themselves were a close knit lot, but Varric had rumors that the Red Iron had hired a number of Ferelden refugees. People like that…well, refugees that had escaped to Kirkwall during a Blight had seen darkspawn, and they were desperate for just about anything. Whether there was truth to the rumors, he did not know, but the Red Iron were a capable lot, and ultimately they ran for money. That was the main distinction between a mercenary and the Coterie. Thieves would rob you blind. He needed desperate sellswords willing to throw their strong arms into a fight and lay their money on the table. Risk-takers. Gamblers. Or someone he could convince.

Tomwise was a scrawny-looking elf who had deep-set, dark eyes and looked like his entire job made him exhausted. Varric approached his stall, leaning on the make-shift counter constructed of old boards and scattered ingredient boxes that the elf could pack away at the end of the day and take home so as to avoid thieves. His clothes spoke of the old city slums of Lowtown, though on the grimier end like he was barely making ends meet himself. With all the business, that was surprising. But maybe he had his own debts to be paying too. Poisoners were always running afoul of the City Guard, and recently the Templars had been out in force.

The man did not notice him at first, so Varric waited, watching him grinding away at the ingredients in his pestle. And then, when he finally turned back to gather some more to add to his concoction, he was startled enough he could not speak a moment.

“I…err…yes? What can I get you?” he finally said after a moment to recover.

“Information.” The elf gave Varric a wary look.

“I don’t sell information. I sell poisons.” Varric considered a few of the vials atop the counter, musing over the contents. Poison always seemed a little cowardly to him. He wasn’t a viper, he was a rogue. He set down the vial in his hands and then considered the elf.

“I’m trying to contact Athenril. Word is you may know where to reach her.” At that, the elf hesitated, and then finally he set down the pestle and mortar in his hands and crossed his arms.

“And what does a Merchant Prince want with Athenril.” 

“Maybe I want to hire her?” Varric tried. Tomwise saw right through that remark. He shook his head, giving a bitter smirk.

“Sell her out, more like,” he said simply. “Look, Athenril’s a spot of good down here. She gives people paying work, takes in those the Coterie leaves out, and she’s damn good at what she does. And she doesn’t traffic slaves, like half the bastards running around down here.” Varric nodded, standing back up from the counter. 

“Sounds a decent sort of woman. Where can I find her?” 

“You’re trouble,” Tomwise said simply. “You tell me the real reason you’re looking, and maybe I’ll tell you where she likes to drink in the evenings.” Varric grinned, then examined his nails a moment.

“Let’s say I have an opportunity to make some real money, and I heard she’s got some very interesting associates I’d like to learn more about.” Tomwise was staring at him, weighing his words. “I’m in the market for…capable people, shall we say? And people who take a few risks and prove their worth in a fight.” The elf gave a small laugh at that.

“Athenril plays it safe. She isn’t in that sort of business,” he said simply. “Can’t help you.”

“I hear she knows some Red Iron mercenaries. I hear she convinced some of them to break commission and do some side work for her. Lyrium. Templars. Ringing a bell?” Tomwise’s eyes narrowed, and he gritted his teeth. All of his laughter and smiles were gone now.

“Where did you hear that?” he said in a cold voice. 

“As you say, I am a Merchant Prince. I have my share of contacts.” The elf looked away, and when he finally did look up, his eyes were like flint.

“You leave her alone. If Meeran knew she was working both sides of the street now – “ He silenced abruptly. Varric raised an eyebrow.

“Who?” he pushed. “Come on, I’m not going to turn her over to the City Guard or whatever. I’m looking for opportunities and capable people here.” The elf shook his head.

“It isn’t the guard that should concern you.” Varric narrowed his gaze, then sighed, pressing both hands down on the counter and leaning towards the elven poison-maker. 

“Look. I have a number of friends that said you’d be of some use to me. If you’re not of use to me, you know how this works.” The elf looked uncomfortable a moment. Varric settled his arms on the counter, crossing them and considering the man. “Whoever this mercenary is, she’s got some damn good luck, and I have some opportunities she might do well with. Meeran’s not known for being friendly with his lady recruits, and Athenril will be cautious after her successes. But whoever this woman is stole lyrium from the Gallows itself. You can see the value I may find in that sort of person, right? And I bet anything she’s looking for more work. We _all_ are.” It was this that appeared to convince the poison-maker. He finally uncrossed his arms and sighed.

“Her name is Sidonie Hawke. She and her brother are Ferelden refugees. They’re squatting in Lowtown at the moment with Gamlen Amell. You’ve heard of him, I suspect,” he said. His voice did not sound impressed.

“Owes the Merchant Guild quite a bit of money,” Varric replied.

“He owes _everyone_ quite a bit of money. Money he doesn’t have. They’re his niece and nephew. Ask around and you’ll hear a little about them. But they play their cards close to their chests, and if Meeran finds they’re running side jobs…” 

“He won’t find out from me,” Varric promised and pushed himself up. Then he tossed the man a coin and scooped up the vial of poison he had been examining earlier. Might be useful against darkspawn if nothing else, and he never knew when Bianca’s family might try to murder him next. The elf caught his coin, and Varric turned away with a backwards wave.

Time to learn a little more about the Siblings Hawke.

***

Eideann wiped her brow with the back of her hand and then slipped her bloodied sword Duty into the sheath at her back with a grimace. She could taste blood from where the smuggler had caught her in a right hook, but other than that and a small nick from a knife she had been just a tad too slow to stop, she was unharmed. Their recent work in the Wending Wood had left her reflexes a bit worse for wear if common bandits could touch her. Zevran, blades in his hands, considered her warily.

“I had not thought they would prove so formidable,” he said, glancing to the crates of cargo offloaded into the shallow inlet that was set into the cliffs just to the west of the City of Amaranthine. “And I had not thought they would be running goods through an inn. All the same, it is well done for the moment. What do you think, _Bella_?” 

“I think I would like to have a day where I was not required to descend into caverns and tunnels,” she muttered, pushing hair from her face and then rolling her shoulders. “With any luck, this will be the last of them. There’s a passage that way, and I bet anything it’s an external entrance for smuggling across lands. We’ll get Captain Aidan’s men to seal it up and hopefully that will discourage any of our smuggling friends for a while.” It was never going to be a finished endeavor. Smuggling along the coast was rampant. The best you could do was give people the incentive to spend their time in better ways. And sometimes smugglers had their uses, after all. 

“This may be a good moment to speak with you, _Bella_ ,” Zevran said simply, “about the conspiracies against you.” Eideann raised an eyebrow. His look was pointed as he shifted his weight. “No one is likely to overhear us here.” That was a fair point, so she nodded for him to continue.

“Ser Timothy had been inciting a number of lesser nobility and knights, those who have grudges for smaller matters or on principle. Ser Timothy himself was a supporter not of Rendon Howe but of the Teyrn Loghain. Those may prove your more dangerous enemies in the long run.” He examined her a moment. “ _Bella_ , your suspicions as to the primary origin of these plots is…as you expected. I have yet to find a way to preempt any attempt on your life by this Bann Esmerelle, but I am slowly working my way through her associates.” Eideann sighed, then gave him a soft thank you.

“Just once,” she said simply, “I’d like a day to go by where nothing happens.” 

And as it happened, she soon got her wish.

Their injuries and their exhaustion kept them at Vigil’s Keep for the next few days. Zevran was out and about, vanishing into the city to deal with his more secretive business of tracking those down who wanted her dead, but mostly Eideann allowed herself a moment to really recover, and to come to terms with what she needed to do next. 

And then there was the timing of it all, and the fact she was the standing Arlessa of Amaranthine, and that too required her to play yet another role.

It had happened a few days after their return from Amaranthine. She was sitting beside the window where she had pulled her armchair, making use of the grey light rather than waste the candles, a stack of papers in her lap in Mistress Woolsey’s neat hand dictating all the accounts for the month and the expenditures of her household, the Vigil, and her requested renovations. She was clad in one of her Highever gowns, the one lined with fur against the chill. Nesiara had been in earlier to light a fire in the hearth, but Eideann had told her not to bother, since she always felt cold from the darkspawn taint, and she felt like that chill was what she needed.

She did not realize until then that it had begun to snow. Soft flakes had begun to pile on the lead linings of the window panes and across the rough castle walls. Beyond that, the hills about Amaranthine were gathering a light dusting, and the sky was a white and grey mass of deep pillowy clouds. 

She set down her papers on her lap, her feet propped up in the arm of the chair and considered the snowflakes, glad of the fur lining of her gown. Snow made her think of Ostagar, of the Korcari Wilds and the cold stream in the Brecilian Forest where she and Alistair had first kissed. Snows made her think of Haven, the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and she thought of Leliana and how her Chantry-funded expedition to reclaim the ruins was going. She had not heard a word about it, because Leliana had needed to travel back to the Grand Cathedral and the University of Orlais for an expeditionary team of experts to accompany her and the blessings of the Chantry. Eideann wondered how Leliana’s pet nug, Schmooples she had called it, had fared during the journey. She thought too of the snows that had blanketed the Coastlands and Soldier’s Peak, and that made her think of Highever with a sad sigh. 

And then a soft knock had come of the door. She looked up and let her feet slip to the floor carefully, brushing her skirts flat and rising.

“Come in, Varel.” She knew that knock. He was always quiet but steady, a guiding hand, a quiet regard. He was clad in thick velvet for warmth, his Amaranthine cloak wrapped about him as though he had been outside across the grounds. Eideann glanced to the window and the snow, then him, and wished a moment for a fire to offer him instead of simply an empty hearth. He gave her a small smile, recognizing the concern as he followed her gaze, and then a bow of head.

“Your Majesty, I trust I am not disturbing you?” he asked. 

“No, no…” she set the papers from Mistress Woolsey with all their financials down on the chair she had vacated. “Merely reviewing Mistress Woolsey’s accounts.”

“Ah. She found the funds to pay for the reconstruction and improvements, then?” Eideann nodded, gently brushing one hand over the arm of the chair. Her other came up to toy with the Warden pendant on its long chain.

“She made a few arrangements with merchants that travelled the Wending Wood. With the return of some normalcy to trade, we’ve made a not insignificant profit from the harvest this year. It was late coming, but Amaranthine is finally being well fed, and the rest of Ferelden is feeling the benefit, particularly in Denerim where it is most needed.” She glanced back to him, eyes steady. “What is it you needed?” He worried his lip a moment, clasping his hands before his doublet. 

“I wondered if there were arrangements to be made for this year’s Satinalia celebrations, Your Majesty. If you had intended to host a feast or a ball, I will need to begin preparations, and Mistress Woolsey will need to add it to the expenditures…” It was a kind way of reminding her she had completely forgotten. Satinalia was a mere week and a half away.

She _had_ forgotten. How could she not? An entire year without a single holiday while fighting the Blight and she had no concept of what month it even was anymore. She was startled into consideration on that.

“Might his Majesty King Alistair be joining us?” Varel asked carefully. Eideann drew a breath, looking up at him, and wetting her lips. 

“No, Seneschal, I believe he will be wintering in South Reach this Satinaliatide.” 

“What of the Teyrn? Varel asked quietly. Gently.

“He too will be absent, I fear. Highever has always had significant Satinalia events, and with the situation as it was this past year, I imagine it will be important for my brother to restore some normalcy.” She considered a moment, breast rising and falling a little, and then nodded to herself. “No, Seneschal, we shall be alone for this year’s Satinalia. Are there traditions particular to Amaranthine that need to be observed?” Seneschal Varel shook his head.

“Not as such, Your Majesty. It has long been tradition for the Bann Esmerelle to hold a Satinalia masque. Amaranthine itself swings from devoted worship at the Chantry of Our Lady Redeemer to drunken revelry. The Lane of Wares is renamed the Lane of Fools for the traditional crowning of the fool among the common folk. Farmsteads tend to hold their own celebrations.” Eideann glanced to the papers on her bed. 

“With the situation as it is, Varel, I imagine such revelry may be a little thin this year.” 

“As you say, your Majesty.” He gave her a bow of head. “If I may, then, Bann Esmerelle has extended her invitation to include all members of your household this year, including the other Grey Wardens.” Eideann considered the idea a moment, then gave a small nod, letting her pendant fall and weaving her fingers together at her chin. 

“Then we will not disappoint her,” she finally said. “If she wishes the Queen at her party, she shall have me, and all of mine. And we shall deal with any attempts on my life or the lives of my household as they come.” Varel quirked a slight smile and Eideann let her gaze flicker up at him. He gave another slight bow, considering her with a respectfully amused look.

“It was not my pleasure to meet your father the Teyrn Bryce Cousland, my lady, but I did have the opportunity to meet your mother once, a long time ago. She would be proud of you I think.” Eideann drew a deep breath, letting her hands slowly lower to just below her breasts in courtly relax. 

“Thank you, Seneschal. That is one of the greatest compliments you could pay me, and it means to world to hear from your lips.” She let her gaze fall to the carpets a moment. “I would not say it in front of many, but I trust your discretion and good opinion will not be diminished for hearing it of me.” He shifted a little and she glanced to the cold hearth. “It breaks my heart to walk these halls, and I have not had much cause for joy in recent weeks, with all that has been said and done. Amaranthine is no friend of mine, but I hope to do right by those who need the leadership of a strong Arl. I think of the way Highever loved us, my family, the Couslands, and I know it will never be thus here. But still I will serve. I must do so. And if that means I must break bread with those who wish me dead, so be it. I cannot fall to a viper’s nest when an Archdemon could not fell me.” She looked to him. “I am not ready to be Queen, and Alistair is not ready to be King. But we must. Eyes watch us here at home and across the sea, looking for signs of weakness and for cracks in the foundations we must now lay. If Ferelden is not united, we may yet fall to the likes of Orlais again. In that, Teyrn Loghain was correct. There are still those that seek to own this beautiful land of ours, and if we cannot prove ourselves worthy and capable leaders in the coming months and years, all of Ferelden may be lost.” She looked to him then. “I am very grateful for the service of men like yourself, Varel, and the dedication and devotion you bring, as well as the advice you give me. It is a comfort in these trying times to know I have found in you and yours allies in spite of all the troubles.” Varel smiled, a warm fatherly smile, and then bowed his head a little again.

“Your Majesty, I assure you, you hardly need my advice. But I am glad I make your task a little easier.” Eideann nodded and then licked her lips.

“Tell Mistress Woolsey to commission finery for the rest of the household,” she finally said. “I doubt Anders or Velanna or Oghren even own another set of clothes.” He nodded.

“Shall we maintain the Ferelden Grey Warden colors, Your Majesty?” Eideann shook her head.

“Black and grey…we will look like death itself swooping down on Amaranthine. No, Varel, something to remind them that they serve the Ferelden crown. Reds and golds, sprigs of holly, white fur-lined red velvet cloaks, fastened with the Grey Warden griffon, I think.” She glanced to her trunks. “I have my own jewels, so you need not be concerned with me in that regard.” Maker, how long had it been since she had last attended a formal function outside of her own coronation? She felt a little nervous, and also excited. And she could also sense that this was very definitely, under it all, a trap. 

She drew a deep breath. 

“See to it as well that the servants and farmhands and the rest of the Vigil staff are given Satinalia gifts a little early: cloth for cloaks and clothing. Many are refugees with little themselves, and if the weather is to be believed this year will be a harsh winter on us all.” Varel smiled a little more and gave another small bow.

“It will be done, Your Majesty,” he promised with confidence. Eideann smiled back, then glanced to the window. She would need to think of gifts to give to her Wardens and closest household. Nesiara, her advisor’s council, each of those Wardens under her care. 

She only had a week and a half. She reached to gather the papers for Mistress Woolsey and straightened her skirts, which were warm about her.

“Come,” she said quietly, “I shall accompany you, Seneschal. I would like a word with Mistress Woolsey anyway, and it is time I went and found a warm fire to stand beside, don’t you think?” He probably had an ache in his bones from the chill in her chambers.

“We shall have someone sent to light the fire,” Varel said simply, and Eideann sighed, tucking the papers against her chest in one arm and then looping her other through his offered arm like a proper lady.

“We shall have a small feast, I think, for everyone who is not to come to Amaranthine with us. There is enough holly in the Wending Wood to decorate the hall at least, is there not?” she said with joy. Maker, how she had missed simple things like parties. She had never really liked them before, but now…

Sometimes there were reasons to celebrate. The end of the Blight and the fact they had survived was more than enough reason. 

Mistress Woolsey threw all her weight behind the plan immediately upon hearing it. If the woman was a spymaster – and Eideann did not doubt it – at least she was agreeable. She also had the added idea of personal letters written to those that were in the farmholds to remind them that they had not been forgotten. The soldier patrols could deliver them, along with spun sugar confections that one of the cooks had a hand making. A shipment from an Antivan cruiser had delivered several massive sacks of sugar, and Mistress Woolsey had already procured a few of them in case Eideann had been planning her own party. Since that was no longer the case, the cooks were free to do as they would. 

Eideann, in significantly higher spirits than she had any right to be given the current situation in the Arling and the near certain threat to her person at the upcoming masque, left preparations in their capable hands then and went off to find Nathaniel Howe.

She discovered him in the small study, peering through an old sheaf of letters that were worn and torn at the edges and folded like they had been collected over a long period of time.

“There you are,” she said, crossing to him and reaching a hand out. He caught it instinctively, courtly habits, and then blinked at it as her skirts swirled about her ankles to rest on the thick bearskin rug. “I have been looking for you,” she said quietly. “There was an idea I wished to speak to you about.” He gave her a questioning look and set down the letters carefully. She noticed they were signed with Rendon Howe’s name and her smile faded slightly.

“Written to his mistress,” Nathaniel told her quietly, catching the slight sinking of her mood. “He…he apparently had a woman he kept in Denerim.” 

“Lady Sophie,” Eideann replied quietly. She had heard the name, possibly from Arl Leonas Bryland. “I never met her.” Nathaniel shook his head, looking away from the papers.

“It doesn’t matter. I just hoped to…understand, I suppose. You had an idea?” She wrapped her arm about his, and walked him from the study then, pulling him from the trap of those letters and into the corridor.

“Yes,” she said simply, “but it depends on your permission.” He raised an eyebrow to show he was listening. “We will be having a small Satinalia feast here for the household and Vigil population. Our evening, sadly, must be spent entertaining Bann Esmerelle at her estate in the City, but I had wondered if you might like to visit the city sooner and spend that earlier day with Delilah and her husband in the street celebration.” 

“You’re being political again, I just know it,” he said simply, but a small smile touched his lips.

“Not particularly. Sometimes I do just do things because I feel like being a worthwhile human being,” she said, prodding his shoulder with a small smirk. “And if the common folk in the city see us out and about during their holiday, I see little harm in making merry with them. Especially as it will very definitely irk Bann Esmerelle. I have not celebrated Satinalia for a year.” She considered him, eyes bright. “I insist on having some fun before the evening when Bann Esmerelle is most certainly going to try and kill me in some way or another.” Nathaniel looked to her with alarm.

“Surely she would not be that brazen?” 

“What is brazen about murdering a Queen in your own home with a houseful of alibis and a conspiracy afoot?” Eideann replied simply. “I did not want to impose upon Delilah. I want this to be your choice as well.” He simply nodded, looking away.

“I would like to see her. Especially if, as you say, the evening is determined to be ruined. The day at least can be worthwhile.” Eideann smiled slightly, then nodded to him.

“Good. Then come with me down to the yards. I have some commissions to make for gifts.” Nathaniel rolled his eyes and sighed, his quiet firm voice full of laughter.

“What has gotten into you? Is King Alistair coming this year?” She sobered a little, schooling her face from a frown.

“No. He can’t. And neither will Fergus. It seems that this year you are stuck with me, Nate. I am determined to make it a normal holiday as much as I possibly can.” He quieted too, and considered her, then gave a small nod.

“As you wish, Cousland. We’ll do our best,” he said conspiratorially, his grey eyes flashing with amusement. “I wonder if Anders and Velanna might consent to a magical display?” Eideann gave a soft laugh, shaking her head.

“Anders would immediately be detained by the Templars, and Velanna would probably set the city aflame, if the Wending Wood was any inclination.” Nathaniel considered that and nodded a little as they took the steps down the barbican. Eideann immediately regretted not having her coat. 

“I had thought we might check on that Deep Roads entrance by now?” Eideann sighed.

“It was the plan, but perhaps it is best to consider how to settle Amaranthine politically first. Not to mention I spent my last Satinalia at Ostagar killing darkspawn, and it is not nearly as exciting as you might believe.” She saw him smirk a little, and gave a small shiver. “In any case, I have written to King Bhelen of Orzammar. With any luck, I can find out what sort of support, if any, we might find in the Deep Roads. The Legion of the Dead has outposts under Soldier’s Peak, and if they can provide support, we will be better for it. There are no maps for this far east of Orzammar. The farthest paths I know this far north end at Soldier’s Peak.” She sighed, frowning a little. “I don’t like going in unarmed, especially not with what we have seen of the Architect and his darkspawn allies. This is…new. And something we want to be in peak condition for. I was also hoping that Keenan may be walking by then.”

Keenan had hardly spoken since they had returned from Amaranthine with the news about Nida. He had retreated into his chambers, hardly emerging at all, though he was walking much better know, almost entirely without a limp at all, and he seemed to be a healthier color than he had been when they had first encountered him. 

The news had hit him particularly hard since Nida’s own reasons had been motivated by his choice to join the Grey Wardens. Eideann had had very little to tell him. She was upset at Nida for her own reasons. But this close to a holiday – Keenan would have known it was Satinalia soon, of course. Eideann had given him back his wedding ring, but she had found it not long after sitting abandoned on the table in the dining room, and so she had tucked it carefully away for safe-keeping in case he ever decided to want it back.

Thinking of Keenan made her toy with the ring on her own hand. The bite in the air and the snow swirling lightly down made her hands numb, and she wondered again if she should not have brought a cloak. But Nathaniel’s arm was warm at least, and they hurried along the snow-dusted courtyard towards the small shack were the Tal-Vashoth Armaas had set up his shop. He was, in coordination with Mistress Woolsey, running quite a profitable trade business through the Wending Wood between Denerim and the City of Amaranthine, using the Vigil as his home base. He paid a small renter’s fee for the property he had occupied, and cut prices for the Vigil folk themselves. A roof over his head and guaranteed protection and trade meant the Vigil was becoming a way-station of sorts. Already several of those who had dared the Pilgrim’s Path again after news had come of the security in the Wending Wood had stopped by the Vigil. Eideann had allowed Mistress Woolsey to set up an inn within the walls, run entirely by the families of Voldrik Glavornak’s masons and construction team. There were more than enough jobs at the Vigil those days, and plenty of work for the fields that had previously been left untended with the absence of the old Arl and the Howes, and the fear of darkspawn incursions after the Blight. Those fields fed all of the Vigil, and what they did not use they sold down in Denerim along with the produce shipped southward from the Faravel Plains. Lord Eddelbrek’s properties were raking in a fortune. And her people were being fed. 

Armaas welcomed them with a grunt, and Eideann immediately set about the business of planning her gifts. She had brought her own money, a small purse she carried at all times just in case, so these would be presents from her and not paid for with the Grey Warden coffers. 

What Armaas did not have for sale then and there, he was definitely willing to procure from either Amaranthine’s bustling ports or Denerim itself. Many of the things he did have in stock had been waylaid on their way north by his bartering skills to be sold there instead. One on end of the small shop he had a small shelf of potions and elixirs, materials that her soldiers and any guardsmen travelling or Pilgrim bands may find useful, and a selection of foodstuffs. On the other was a haberdashery of sorts, with ribbons and lengths of cloth imported from the trade ports, a small selection of pre-made goods given it was so near Satinalia, and a number of knick-nacks and odds and ends for those wishing to spend their money on frivolous things. Beside the door was a small shelf of books, randomized volumes, which were procured from the Maker only knew where.

Eideann skimmed a few of the shelves, getting together ideas. By the time she was done, she had an armful of gifts in a parcel she held in both arms and a paper with an order for a case of West Hill Brandy to be sent from the City.

Her next stop was Wade’s blacksmith stall, which was as open to the chilling air as ever but warmer because of his forge. Wade, clad in a leather jerkin and wearing a coat of thick wool under his leather blacksmith gloves and apron, considered her warily as she made a few commissions while Nathaniel loitered outside. 

And then, thoroughly satisfied with herself, she made him help her carry it all back inside. 

“You didn’t buy anything,” she said with a smile. He simply shook his head.

“I will. Just not while you’re around,” he told her, helping her with her packages into the hall where servants took them then to her chambers, and Eideann sent for Nesiara to meet her. She thanked Nathaniel for all his help and then went back to her chambers, eager to begin the rest of the preparations. 

She wanted everything to be perfect. As perfect as it could be, of course. With no Alistair and no Fergus.

Nesiara was not about to help her when she arrived, so Eideann sat at her table to pen a few letters. The first was to Lord Eddelbrek, requesting a pair of Amaranthine horses fit to send on behalf the Arling to the Teyrn of Highever. The second was to Fergus itself, wishing him well at Satinalia and thanking him for sending her belongings to her. She told him in that letter her plans to attend Bann Esmerelle’s annual Satinalia Masque, where she would likely end up dead of either treachery or political nonsense. She finished the letter with her longing to see him and her promise to do so soon, and a few old memories of Satinalia passed, as well as a wish he pass her regards to Alfstanna and find a gift for her on her behalf as thanks for her help in the Landsmeet. 

The third letter was for Alistair, telling him how much she missed him and sending him all her love. She signed that simply _Eideann_ , and folded it in half once before crossing to open her trunk and dig out a few of her personal things. Alistair deserved something personal.

What she found was her leather-bound tome of Ferelden Heraldry, each accompanying a brief history of the house, the margins peppered with notes in her own hand. It was not the most glamorous of presents, certainly, but it was absolutely useful, and skipping around the Bannorn as he was, Alistair needed useful. He had her mabari, and if he could not have her knowledge in person she could at least give him the next best thing. 

She updated a few of her notes in the margin, then tucked her letter under the front cover and set it on the bed with her parcel of presents and her receipts for ordered goods. 

Presents were fun, she decided, and smiled, carefully unwrapping the bundle. Some of the things were in need of some work, and Nesiara had revealed herself to be quite a handy maid when it came to crafts. She had the neatest stitches Eideann had ever seen outside of Leliana, certainly much better than Eideann’s own, and had spent a few nights by the fire slowly mending gowns or her Grey Warden tunic in the orange light with a calm and focus that seemed unearthly. She liked it, making and mending things, she had said. 

For her, Eideann had a special gift: a small pouch of five sovereigns for whatever she felt like buying for herself, and a sewing kit that included a set of fine steel needles, several spools of rich linen thread, and a pair of small scissors inside a sea green felt case decorated with seed pearls from Highever. The money was to buy fabric, to make something for herself for once, but Eideann was not fool enough to think Nesiara would spend it all on herself. The choice was up to the woman, of course, but Eideann suspected at least some of it was going to be sent immediately to Nesiara’s family members and dependents. 

The woman herself appeared not long after, curtsying in her servants gown, wrapped in thick wool against the cold. She had snowflakes in her hair.

“Sorry, my Lady, I went down to the well,” she explained, but Eideann simply shook her head.

“Come, stand by the fire, get warm,” she offered instead. “I was hoping you might help me with some gifts.” Nesiara’s eyes lit up, like it was the best thing she had heard all day, and Eideann, with glee, brought her presents down onto the carpet between them to go through one by one and tell her maid exactly what she had planned for each, skirts gathered about them on the bear-skin rug.

“The entire household is buzzing,” Nesiara admitted, brushing her hands over a length of satin ribbon. “The Seneschal and Mistress Woolsey sent a number of the gardeners towards the Wood earlier to hunt for holly, and two of the rangers are stalking deer westward in hopes of bringing in venison for a feast. Is it true, Your Majesty? Will we really have a feast?” 

“Of course,” Eideann told her, eyes shining. “With music and dancing and food and wine. And we shall crown the King of Fools, too, though I imagine Oghren may just win that without trying.” Nesiara laughed and then Eideann caught her hands in hers. “I have a gift for you,” she said. “I want you to have it early, so that you can make yourself something for the feast if you like.” She gathered up the sewing kit and the small pouch of sovereigns and Nesiara stared at it a moment, lips parted, before smiling wide.

“Thank you, Your Majesty!” she declared, examining the contents. And then she grinned. “I could even use some now.” Eideann surveyed the other presents and then shrugged her shoulders, gathering up the ribbon she had bought and a small silver bell from the haberdashery of Armaas’s shop. 

“I imagine we have our work cut out for us. But I do want everyone to have a wonderful Satinalia, even if it’s only here at the Vigil.” Nesiara gave her a small smile and reached for Eideann’s ribbon and bell, relieving her of it with a shake of her head.

“It will be,” she said, eyes bright and shining. “Even the snows will be beautiful.” Eideann released the bell and Nesiara opened her sewing kit. “Let’s get started, shall we? Or this really will take all day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES:
> 
> This version of the Amaranthine arc begins only a few weeks after the Archdemon is slain, which was mid-autumn in the Dances timeline. It is now the beginning of winter in the story, the beginning of Umbralis/Firstfall, when Satinalia occurs. Since the Blight was a big deal before, holidays got skimmed over, but given the political instability and the attempts to return to normalcy across Ferelden, it makes sense for those holidays to occur.
> 
> Satinalia happens at the beginning of Umbralis/Firstfall (the 11th month of the Thedosian Calendar). Once dedicated to Zazikel, Old God of Freedom, it has been adopted and altered to be associated instead with the moon Satina. Celebrations often include wild revelry, the wearing of masks, crowning of a King of Fools for the day, large feasts, and gift giving. It is not the same as First Day (the actual New Year) and appears for all intents and purposes to be more a marking of the end of the harvests. It is celebrated over most of Thedas. 
> 
> Amaranthine horses are a thing. They are dark in color, and apparently quite valuable. Presumably they come from the Plains, which are currently the purview of Lord Eddelbrek, whose holdings are predominantly freeholds and farmsteads.
> 
> In regards to Armaas, the inn, and increased trade - this only makes sense as a general development for all their circumstances. Armaas is not going to sell his wares (he didn't even bring any with him from the Wending Wood) out in the middle of the courtyard, and Mistress Woolsey seems the sort to be on top of that. Vigil's Keep is definitely located right at the crossroads of the Pilgrim's Path through the Wending Wood to Amaranthine and the North Road that goes to Highever and the Waking Sea. This being the case, it's a natural location to become a trade hub. Mistress Woolsey sees the potential in this immediately by asking a Warden-Commander to find more merchants to trade at the Vigil, so this is just a logical step. The distance between Amaranthine and the Vigil is enough that it makes sense to have an inn. Assume for this playthrough that Vigil's Keep functions in the same manner as an actual medieval castle would and this makes sense. Historically speaking, towns grew up around castles and religious houses, and since the Vigil has been around centuries and centuries, it makes sense for a town to develop there. Often, these towns became enclosed by an outer stone wall, with farms and such sometimes spilling outside. These sorts of town layouts are visible even today in parts of Europe. Given the land, location, and traffic that ran through the area, the Vigil very likely does have more to it than just the actual fortress itself. Since Eideann has taken it upon herself to make improvements to the Vigil, she's obviously seeing a trend of the Vigil becoming increasingly important to travellers, and acting on that preemptively or as need demands. The view of the Vigil and the surrounding areas within the walls is apparent in game, but easy to miss since most of the action within the Vigil aside from the main battles happens within the castle courtyard and interior rather than out on the grounds within the outer walls. 
> 
> And as a final note: if you're worrying what the heck Alistair and some of the other companions are up to, don't worry. There will be more on them soon. ;) I have not lost those threads. We'll tie them all in. 
> 
> Thanks for reading all!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keenan gets Satinalia gifts from Eideann and Nathaniel; an unexpected visitor forces a confrontation between Oghren and Eideann; Velanna deals with shemlen holidays; Fergus deals with the remains of Highever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: substance abuse
> 
> Comments always welcome.

Keenan did not want to go anywhere. The cold made both his legs ache. If they would ever be strong again, he did not know, but he could walk, thank the Maker for that. If only he could be more grateful for other things.

He had met Nida when he lived in Gwaren, a simple guardsmen. She was the daughter of a merchant and trader, with eyes that shone, full of kindness. When they were forbidden to wed by her father, they had fled instead, west to Orlais and a new life. He had an aunt there, and she friends, and they could start anew.

And for a while it had been good. They had been married in a small Chantry in the village of Lac d’Argent south of Cumberland, west of Jader. But then the rumors of the Blight had sprung up, warnings of trouble in the south of Ferelden, and he knew…he just knew…

He had volunteered. He had travelled to Jader and signed himself up to battle the darkspawn, defend his home. He had done Ferelden a wrong by abandoning his post in Gwaren. He had failed at being a guardsman of the lives of people. And he was determined to do right.

He had never thought that Nida, with family in Ferelden and so close to it as he, would have thought the sacrifice anything but worthy. But the cost had been too much, it seemed. All her dreams long gone. And she had chosen a new life for herself and left him to his death.

Now he was left, serving the Queen who had murdered his lord. He had no opinion on that particular matter. The Teyrn had never been frequent in Gwaren, spending most of his time in Denerim acting as King Maric’s steward and then King Cailan’s. He had been too far away from it all at the time to know how to respond to the accusations and political intrigue.

He knew one thing. This new Queen kept her promises, and she listened. And he was grateful for that.

But what life did he have to look forward to now? What purpose? He could not even properly fight. He could hold a sword, but the weight of it pained his legs.

Satinalia depressed him as well. It should have been a time for family and friends. He had thought of wonderful things to get Nida, things they had not been able to find when they had lived in Orlais. Now…now it was ash in his mouth to think on it.

He carefully took the stairs.

“Where are we going?” he called. Queen Eideann Cousland, the Warden-Commander, slayer of the Archdemon, glanced back over her shoulder and gave him a brilliant smile beneath her fur-lined Warden cloak over a regal winter gown.

“Nathaniel and I have gifts for you.”

Nathaniel was there as well, the son of her worst enemy. Maker, this woman was odd. But Nathaniel was more patient, it seemed, and he carefully helped Keenan down the steps, knowing full well it was difficult for him in the cold, with the danger of slipping on the stones. Keenan gave him a nod of thanks, and warily eyed the white paths where the snow had been trampled down by servants only in certain places. The entirety of the Vigil courtyard glowed a dazzling an pure white. It made him feel hollow.

“It’s strange to think of the history here, or the history anywhere, and then see snows wipe all of it away, don’t you think?” Nathaniel Howe asked quietly beside him. Keenan glanced to him, and the man nodded. Keenan remembered then that Nathaniel Howe and Eideann Cousland had paid the cost of the blood of their family to reach the point they had. And he resolved to think less of Nida.

The pangs in his heart were too great.

“A gift, out here?” he asked quietly, bundling his Warden cloak about him. Those had been gifts enough, new armor and a new tunic, finely made and enchanted too. He did not deserve more.

“You shall see,” Nathaniel replied, a glint in his eye, and directed him across the snows towards the stableyards.

The Queen was already there, standing in ankle-deep snow. Her eyes were shining blue the color of the deep sea, and her face was like spring itself to see her so happy and smiling. Maker, did Grey Wardens smile anymore? He couldn’t remember. It felt strange. She motioned with her arm to the stableyard.

“We have two gifts,” she said, and a servant clad in a thick wool tunic and a hat lined with fur stepped forward. In his arms was a crossbow, a shaft of ancient dragonthorn, smooth with age and care, and it was strung with such proficiency the entire thing seemed tense in the man’s hands. The workings were an old fashion, not the kind they had used when they had manned the walls of Gwaren. It spoke of centuries old technique. The servant held it forward, and Queen Eideann considered him. She drew forth a leather hip harness loaded with bolts fletched with black raven feathers.

“This came from Soldier’s Peak and was used by the last Wardens to serve in Ferelden before us.” He stared. He had no words. He felt his eyes blur a little, and then he shook his head a little to be rid of the emotion. His hand brushed the dragonthorn stock and he caught his breath.

He could not work his sword anymore, but shooting…that was different. The servant relinquished the fine weapon into his hands and he examined the sight before Eideann held forth on the bolts. He took it hesitantly, loading the crossbow, and then set it to his shoulder to aim. He sighted along the shaft towards the far side of the courtyard where only the wall of practice targets lay, and then released the bolt. His aim was not flawless. He missed the main target, but he did hit the outside edge. And a small flicker of a smile came to his lips.

He was still of use.

Nathaniel Howe clapped him on the shoulder and came about him then as he lowered the crossbow and Eideann gave him the rest of the bolts in their leather pouch. And then Nathaniel gave a sharp whistle.

The creature came bounding through the snows, massive and sending up a spray of white powder that dusted its brown fur and left it looking foolish and mad.

“A mabari?” Keenan asked, his breath catching. Queen Eideann smiled and nodded.

“Not just any mabari, Warden. Lucan is Joined. He survived the darkspawn taint. He’s a Warden himself.”

“Don’t they need to imprint?” Keenan asked quietly. Eideann smiled.

“Yes, but we’ve been giving him some of your old garments, and he knows your scent. He’s already trained to commands, and they’re easy enough to learn.” She gave a soft whistle and the dog’s ears perked up, his eyes bright and fiery. And then he trotted over to them, glancing between them before nuzzling at Keenan’s hand with a big wet nose damp with snow. “It should not take long.”

“Anders has a cat,” Keenan laughed. “This is bound to cause trouble.”

“Anders can keep his cat away from the dog,” Nathaniel said simply. “That mabari could do damage in the Deep Roads if he so wanted. The cat, not so much.” Keenan felt his voice catch in his throat as he bent over the beast, scruffing his hand in the soft fur of his ears.

“Lucan, eh?” he said at last, voice thick with gratitude. This was not just a Satinalia gift. It was not just a pet. They had given him a way to fight back, a way to be a Warden again. It did not matter he was unable to use the greatsword skills he had spent a lifetime learning. This was a way forward.

 _I have my life back._ Tears fogged in his eyes and Lucan slobbered on his hand as he rubbed himself against his legs.

“Hello, Lucan,” he said softly. “I’m Keenan. It’s good to meet you.” And then he glanced up to Nathaniel Howe and Queen Eideann, eyes damp with tears. “Thank you. Maker, bless you both…”

***

The preparations were going well for the feast. Great boughs of pine and sprigs of holly hung from the tallest rafters and red and gold ribbons wrapped about the columns that supported the roof. The massive firepit in the hall now bore a spit for roasting venison, and great tables lined the corridors.

A minstrel that had been staying at Mistress Woolsey’s new inn had agreed to play the lute in the hall, and another of the farmhands proved to have a beautiful singing voice. It was not Leliana, but to hear song and music again, the sort that was not linked to the Blight, was enough to bring Eideann joy.

Or it was, if she had not been called from all the preparations by the abrupt entrance of a visitor.

And she knew the visitor, or at least had met her before. It was Felsi, the dwarven woman who had been at Redcliffe during the Blight working at the tavern there. She was alone, unaccompanied, apparently arriving with the last batch of Pilgrims as they pulled in through the gates, and she was furious.

Eideann, brushing pine needles from her gown, crossed the hall to control the situation as soon as humanly possible.

“Miss Felsi! I had wondered if you might be visiting for Satinalia but I didn’t know if Oghren even knew what Satinalia was, so – ”

“Where is he?” Eideann paused at the abrupt statement, and Felsi reached up to unfasten her cloak, exposing a rough peasants gown of worsted wool and a swollen belly. Felsi glance at her with angry eyes. “I _know_ he’s here. Cough him up, Warden.” Eideann drew a breath, considering her next words carefully. “Where is that big bronto turd?!” Felsi insisted.

“Hang on to yer beard, woman,” came the gruff tones of Oghren from across the hall. Eideann glanced back and Felsi leaned a little so she could see the man stalking towards them.

Oghren was wearing his Warden tunic, and for once it was clean, and his eyes were narrowed as he followed the red carpet down the hall. His red hair was shining in the firelight. He glanced to Eideann momentarily, like he had everything under control, and then gave Felsi a wink.

“Is this a…conjugal visit? Looking for Oghren to grease the old wheel?” he asked. Eideann gave him a dark look. Felsi exploded.

“Don’t lay a finger on me,” she spat, her voice laced with venom. Oghren’s smirk faded into a glower. Felsi glared back, fists clenched. “You’ve done a lot of stupid things on a whim, but joining the Wardens…” Eideann took a careful and discreet step backwards. Oghren just laughed his dirty laugh.

“Didn’t you said it would be _hot_?” he replied. He was obviously skirting the issue now.

“We were role-playing,” Felsi shot back fiercely, her eyes narrowed. Oghren sighed, crossing his arms.

“Look, I didn’t sign up on a whim, alright? You kicked me out.” Eideann paused a moment, trying to fit the pieces together. Was that how it was? Why he had come to join them there? He had arrived even before she did. This man had battled the darkspawn and held her gates, and she had thought he had intended to go back for Felsi.

To be honest she had admitted him because he was a hero, a true warrior, and she needed people who knew the darkspawn well, even in their lairs. She had not really wondered why he had suddenly been there, or why he had left his position serving the King’s Army. But the roles had been much the same in those days. Both were battling darkspawn. Now she considered Felsi, obviously with child, though not too far along given the timing, and wondered if Oghren had not been trying to hide.

And she had let him.

“You were just looking for an excuse!” Felsi spat.

“You kept trying to make me into something I’m not!” Oghren shot back. Eideann chanced a glance to the hall and caught half the servants watching them with wary eyes. When they saw her taking notice, they dropped their eyes back to work, but they stayed quiet to listen in all the same. There was nothing she could do about that. Felsi and Oghren had decided on their own terms to have this conversation in the middle of the hall.

“I can’t play house like you want me to,” Oghren said bitterly. She saw a little of the old Oghren in him then, the one she had seen at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, telling the Guardian there that of course he had regrets about how Branka had turned out. “I’m only good at one thing, Fels,” Oghren added. His voice was calm now, miserable. “And it’s killing.” Eideann crossed her arms a moment, her fingers tangling in the Warden pendant at her neck.

“You had a good thing in the Army,” Felsi protested. “They respected you.” Oghren gave her a sad little smile and shook his head, sighing.

“Felsi,” he said quietly, a low voice, tender almost coming from him. “I finally got the old conker on straight and I don’t belong anywhere but here.”

Felsi took it like a blow. Her eyelids fluttered a moment and she took a small step back, and then her eyes went hard and her jaw clenched.

“Fine, Oghren. If…that’s what you want…” she said in a voice that was like a cold wind. “The baby and I will just…have to get by without you.” She pursed her lips and stormed off back towards the door, gathering her cloak about her and reaching for her hood. Near the door, Seneschal Varel was loitering, watching the exchange warily. His eyes met Eideann’s and she gave him a signal to intercept the dwarven woman. He nodded and then reached for the door handle before slipping out with Felsi into the cold winter air.

Eideann herself glanced sidelong to Oghren. A roiling pit of emotions yawned up inside her. She carefully ran her tongue across the back of her teeth to give herself time to choose her words. And then she drew a breath.

“Don’t you think you should go after her?” she asked quietly. Oghren gave her a flat look, shaking his head, one eyebrow raised, then sighed and looked away towards the firepit.

“I’d just end up being hit,” he said with a grimace, finally uncrossing his arms. “And in this mood, she’d go straight for my danglers.” He turned away, and Eideann followed him with her eyes a moment before pursing her lips.

“Warden,” she called, her voice the courtly commanding tone she had learned from her mother long ago. Oghren froze, back to her. Eideann raised her chin a little. “A word if you may. In the study, please.”

He bristled from head to toe. And then his voice echoed through the chamber.

“Sod it!” he hissed, and then stalked off. Eideann watched him go, then considered the servants about the chamber a moment with a cool and controlled gaze. They hurried went back to their work. Eideann drew a calm breath, and then glanced to the door. She could manage Felsi later, she decided.

Oghren had actually done as requested and gone to the study. She had half expected him to rebel. He had found the bottle of brandy that normally stood on the shelf above the fireplace and was drinking straight from the bottle. Eideann carefully shut the door behind her, and he turned to give her a dark glare, angry and hateful.

“It’s none of your fucking business, Commander!” he spat. Eideann shook her head.

“It is none of my business as a Commander, that’s true. But I am your friend. And I am not going to let this go unsaid, so you may as well listen, Duster, and I’m only going to say this once.”

“Make me!” he hissed.

“You think I won’t?” Her eyes were dangerous. He almost replied back then, but then he remembered who she was and what she was saying and what she had done in the past, and he paused, drawing himself up short and taking another swig of the bottle.

“Fuck you, Princess,” he grumbled. Eideann crossed her arms, and considered him gruffly.

“I let you join this order because I know what you’re capable of,” she finally said. “But here you are, nursing another bottle. You’d rather drink yourself into oblivion than own up to the fact you’re scared shitless of that woman and that baby and what that represents.” He glared.

“And what business is it of yours anyway?” he grumbled. He considered the bottle a moment, and then he gave a roar of anger, hurling it into the fireplace. It shattered and the flames spluttered as the alcohol in the bottle fueled the hearth. Eideann did not take her eyes from him. “What do you want me to say, Warden? Didn’t do right by them, did I?” He spat, glaring over his shoulder at her. Eideann simply met his gaze.

“If you have to ask,” she replied curtly. He gave a soft snort of laughter, shaking his head and then bowing it a little, running a hand over the top of his scruffy red hair and pressing it flat a moment under thick fingers.

“That’s what I like about you,” he finally said when he looked up again, this time considering the ceiling. “You’re honest. Like a sock to the gut. Judgmental little fucker aren’t you.” His hands fisted at his side a moment, and then he looked back at her, and the look on his face was sorrow. Eideann looked away then, feeling the weight of it sink over her. “This was easier once, wasn’t it?” Oghren said bleakly. Eideann just gritted her teeth. “I heard…about you and that pike-twirler Alistair’s nugget and what happened in that Archdemon fight. I’m sorry.” Eideann’s breath escaped her in a single rush, and she closed her eyes a moment.

“We lost our chance. You haven’t yet,” she finally said quietly, still looking away. He was silent a moment, and then she heard him on the carpets, and she looked up to see he had settled into leaning against the hearth, peering into the fire.

“Don’t you go soft on me,” he mumbled. “Not you too.” And then he glanced to her, eyes narrowed. “I think Felsi knew, you know. Even if she never acknowledged it to herself. She knew I could never settle down again. I did once and…well…you know.” Eideann’s mind skipped to Branka and Layrn.

Felsi was not Branka. She had known Oghren when he was a man worth knowing, and Eideann had seen those parts of the old Oghren whose eyes lit up when he had purpose and who could hold a city against an entire horde. This Oghren, who had been drinking away those feelings, was the old Oghren she had met, broken, in Orzammar, all parts of who he felt he was stripped from him except his anger and the dark part of him that refused to surrender.

Even the anger was gone at the moment. Now he just looked tired. His eyes were dark with circles. But he had thrown the alcohol and there was no more.

This was a man who had finally worked out he was good at fighting and good at running, and bad at almost everything else. Trained as a berserker of the Warrior Caste, he had learned that anger was something channel into battle, and that he needed to store up that anger in case he needed to use it. It was a dangerous philosophy, and one that made him a restless soul. It had already cost him all but his name. It had driven him apart from his entire house. It had left him devoid of friends in Orzammar, in the solace of drink, the only thing that hid the pain and numbed it. And it became the only thing he could do. And if he stopped, it would not erase all that he was now. Not those moments where he held the gates, but not all the anger and loss he had buried inside either. And it would not change the part of him that desperately needed to hide.

Eideann shook her head and he gave a bitter laugh.

“You’re looking at me like I’m some injured nug, Warden. Sod it.” She shook her head again, refusing to look away now.

“I’m looking at a man who has given up on himself.” His eyes flashed dangerously.

“And why not?” he said in a low grumble. “You see anything worth keeping around here, Warden? You think Fels deserves to put up with this? You think that little one does?” Eideann settled on the truth.

“I see a man who saved an entire city when I asked him to. I see a man who navigated the Deep Roads and battled the darkspawn when everyone else had given up. I see a man who has been hurt by a lot of things in life, and thinks if he admits it that it will make him weak and make people think less of him. I see a man who is frightened of what this future is. And I know when that man is frightened, he starts drinking a great deal.” He tensed at that, and she thought for a moment he might explode at her. She simply let him consider it, letting it hang in the air between them a moment. And then she added, “I haven’t given up on that man. He’s not charming and he’s rude and impulsive and violent, but he’s not worthless. I haven’t given up on the man who can navigate the Deep Roads where even the Legion of the Dead will not go. That man is fearless. That man is a warrior. And that is the man I need in my Wardens. I won’t give up on that man. And he should not give up on himself.” She shook her head. “You’re not an idiot. You know as much as anyone that saying lewd things and drowning your sorrows doesn’t ease the pain.”

“You’re lucky you’re my only friend, Commander, or I’d break your face,” he said gruffly. Eideann nodded, taking it at face value.

“I expect you would too.” He sniffed, looking away.

“Leaving Felsi is the best favor I ever did her and the nugget,” he said simply. “I just sit and drink, Commander. I just…I just keep thinking about all that slag with Branka, and how I’ve turned out. I always said I was this way because she left, but I think maybe…she left because of how I am.” Eideann bowed her head a little.

“I think you’ve changed since then, Oghren,” she told him quietly. “Or at least you’ve had the chance to.” He gave her a mirthless grin.

“Aye, I’ve tried twenty-seven new kinds of ale and learned I’m just the right height to give a human girl a good time. That doesn’t make me a good man.” He looked disgusted. “Just…wallowing in my own filth here now.” Eideann carefully pulled the chair out and then sank into it, folding her hands in her lap. Oghren was looking into the flames again. “I mean, she was my wife! I spent two years trying to save her, while she was off boffing that tramp and feeding my cousins to the darkspawn! And now she’s dead. And there’s no way to ever make things better. And now…I’ve fucked everything up for Fels. I always fuck everything up.” His eyes were shining in the firelight.

“Except for the things you don’t,” Eideann said softly. He just shook his head a little, closing his eyes.

“Aye. I’m here, aren’t I? The only place where I can be what I need to be.” Eideann settled back in the seat a little, watching him. And then she carefully ventured a thought, trying something new.

“When I saw you here in the Vigil during the attack, the first thing I felt was relief. And when you said you wanted to be a Grey Warden, I let you, because I needed people I could count on at my back. And I do count on you.” He sneered, eyes opening and flickering to her sidelong.

“Your mistake.”

“Perhaps,” she said, “but I stand by it. I’ll own my mistakes.” He shook his head and pushed away from the hearth.

“So what. I should own mine?” he said grimly, crossing his arms. He screwed his face up a moment, like he wanted to let everything just burst out, and then instead he let it all sink back down again into that pit where he held it all. “Should have died in the Battle of Denerim like a fucking hero, and then this wouldn’t even be a problem.” Eideann pushed herself up.

“I think it might be time to remember who you can be. I’ve seen it. That man who charges in and holds the line because he will not lose the fight. Don’t lose this one either, Oghren.” His eyes narrowed across the room, following her features like he were tracing the lines of her face trying to make sense of everything.

“Felsi will be fine. She’s a survivor,” he finally said, “but the nugget has me all torn up inside. The little one won’t understand.” Eideann’s eyes narrowed a little.

“It is your choice what you want to do here, Oghren, but the way I see it there’s really only two choices: either you’re part of the child’s life, or you stay away so the baby never knows you enough to miss you. But you have to own one of those choices.” She shook her head. “There are precious few good men in the world, the rest of us are simply trying to make our way.”

“I made a choice,” he muttered. “I chose to free them from me. She came after me anyway.”

“Felsi is frightened as well,” Eideann reminded him softly. “And you came to the surface to find a new life for yourself, to find a new path.” He softened a little, then grimaced.

“Do Wardens usually…you know…get paid?” Eideann’s Cousland gaze scanned him, and he sniffed. “You know…for all that arse-whooping I do for you?”

“A stipend, outside of equipment, food, and lodging,” she said after a moment. He nodded to himself, stroking his braided mustache a moment in thought.

“What an arrangement,” he muttered. “You feed me, and I get to take my frustrations out on the darkspawn. I don’t suppose…” His eyes slid to her and she raised an eyebrow. He grimaced. “I don’t suppose you could just…straight up send the money to Felsi? I don’t know if she’d accept it, but let’s be honest, I’ll only spend it on more booze, and it’s probably best I don’t do that.” Eideann gave a nod. “And…maybe I could…write some letters,” he continued. “That’s the least I could do, as a father.”

“If that is what you want,” she told him. He nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll…” he trailed off back into thoughts.

“Let me know if I can help,” Eideann told him softly, and then turned, leaving him to his musings.

Outside the study, Seneschal Varel was waiting for her. He gave her a small bow of head.

“The dwarven lady has been settled in one of the remaining inn rooms. She has declined attending the feast, which is understandable given the circumstances. I gave her a purse of coins and have put a few of our household at her disposal should she change her mind.” His gaze flickered to the study. “Did you…did he…have anything productive to add?”

“We shall see,” Eideann replied quietly. “It’s in his hands. What he does with his options is his choice. He’ll have to own his own mistakes however he chooses too. And Felsi will have to make her decisions as well. There’s not much else you or I can do here, Seneschal.”

“Of course,” the man said simply, and he turned to a different matter. “Miss Velanna has been…causing a stir in the kitchens. I was hoping you might…speak with her.”

“Oh, for the Maker’s sake…” Eideann sighed, then closed her eyes a moment. “Yes, Varel, I’ll speak to her. I have no idea if she will even listen, but I will speak to her.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Really, Varel, we’re at the point you can probably just call me Eideann.” He smiled and gave a bow of head and then parted from her down a side corridor.

“As you wish, Lady Eideann.”

***

She had read everything, or at least she had tried to, before realizing everything was mindless propaganda and full of absolutely nonsense. And really, what was the point of an entire room full of books when they were so full of trite nonsense about Andraste and the Maker and all the shemlen lies.

 _Mythal lasa mir suledin_ , she thought.

She had not meant to end up in the kitchens. All the corridors were so confusing. The stone felt strange on her bare feet, nothing like the woods, and the tall walls had swallowed her up. She felt caged, trapped, and it did not sit well with her.

She had been trying to return to the hall, where the various people living in the Keep and the surrounding farms and homes had been filling the hall with branches of fresh pine and holly, like they were trying to bring the outside in. Foolish shemlen. Did they not know that they could simply go out into the world. It was foolishness to try and grow boughs without sunlight or rain. The world was there, just beyond the doors, and they insisted on taming it, bringing it under their control.

The servants did not like her. Some were very wary of her. Others pretended she was not there at all. Hardly anyone spoke to her at all. And now she stood in the domain of the Vigil cook, who was a large man with bristling eyebrows and hair that looked like a fennec had died on his head with its tail curled under his nose. And he was not happy to see her.

“I will not have guests in my kitchen!” he was declaring archly. “I have told everyone time and again! That mage who steals the meat! Now the she-elf that sets the woods on fire! If you’re here to steal my food like the rest, I won’t have it!” he was armed with a rolling pin, making pastries or some sort of shemlen food. And Velanna was less than impressed.

“As if I had any interest in your shemlen meals,” she said airily. Did the man think her a thief? She did live in those halls now, as horrific a thought it was. She had every right take what she needed. It was all common ground, not even that man’s kitchen at all. When one needed, the entire clan provided. Was he not part of the Vigil clan as she was now? She pursed her lips, eyebrows lowered, eyes smoldering with disgust.

“Alright, that’s enough,” came the tones of the Warden-Commander. Velanna closed her eyes a moment, then gave a short sniff and glanced over.

“Your Majesty!” the cook and his assistants declared, scraping ridiculous bows. Shemlen nobility. Hah! Fen’Harel take them all for the madness. The woman simply looked to Velanna instead. She was wearing some sort of fancy fur-lined gown, and had a leather satchel over one shoulder that looked heavy from the weight of something.

“I think it’s time we returned to the hall,” she said shortly. Did the woman think she was a fool? That was precisely what she had been attempting to do in the first place. The entire house was run by morons who preferred mazes and indoor forests and nonsense about stealing food that was owned by all. And that library. She bristled.

“Ma nuvenin,” she said curtly.

“Thank you, Ser. We are sorry for disturbing you,” the Commander said next, giving a bow of head to the cook. And then she glanced to Velanna, and waited. And then Velanna realized she meant for her to apologize for intruding on the cook’s domain. She narrowed her gaze, then glazed sidelong to the cook. “Tel’Abelas,” she said flatly. And then she turned and led the way out, determined to find the hall herself if it killed her.

When she glanced back she found that the Commander was smiling at the corner of her mouth.

“You didn’t say sorry,” she said, noticing Velanna was watching. “I’m guessing you said you were not sorry?”

“Why should I tell you, shemlen? Will you steal my language as well.” The Commander simply gave a shake of head.

“No, I just admire your spirit a little,” she replied. And Velanna was caught a little off guard. She was making fun of her, surely. So she simply pursed her lips. The woman took the lead then down the corridor. “How did you get lost then?”

“I was not lost! I was hungry!” she insisted, because a lie was better than admitting to this woman that she was lost.

“Were you trying to reach the library.”

“Fenedhis, no!” she declared. “There is nothing there worth the time spent reading. It is all lies and foolish nonsense. And you have nothing elvhen, though I looked.” The Warden-Commander nodded, and Velanna changed the topic. “Why are you stringing up branches in the hall?” The Commander grinned.

“It is the winter feast,” she said softly. “Satinalia is when we give gifts to loved ones and celebrate. Speaking of, I have a gift for you, actually.” She reached to her satchel and opened the large flap, digging about within before coming up with a leather-bound book. The leather was stitched with leaves and trees. The woman held it out to her, and Velanna stared at it a moment, then took it suspiciously.

“What is it?” she said bluntly, carefully opening the book and flipping through the pages. All of them were blank. “This book is empty.” She stared at the woman like it were some sort of joke. It had to be. Like she was not worthy of knowledge. Or she were…she did not even know. The Warden-Commander just nodded. Velanna felt a flash of irritation. “Why have you given me this useless object?”

“The cover made me think of you, and it’s for writing in,” was the reply. Like she were some child. Leaves and trees probably made her think of elves in general. And she was not stupid. Clearly something was meant to go onto the blank pages, or else why bother binding the thing at all.

“I can see that,” she hissed. And then she sighed. It was not worth the fight. “I’m sure I’ll find some use for this,” she finally conceded. She turned it over in her hands. It was quite fine work, when she looked closely. “The leather binding is quite…adequate. Thank you.” The Warden-Commander looked vaguely amused. Velanna sniffed. “This…Satinalia. What is its purpose. How did it begin.” The other woman pondered for a moment.

“It was once the holiday of the Old God of Freedom, I think,” she finally said. “I cannot honestly recall. We have so many holidays and sometimes it’s enough just to be merry on those days.” Was it? Velanna did not know. There were few Dalish holidays, and all of those were what had been reclaimed. What would it be like to have so many holidays you did not even know where they all came from or started, you only had to be happy on those days?

“I envy you sometimes,” she said quietly, tucking the book against her chest in both arms. “Even the youngest human child has these holidays, these stories, knows of a hundred different heroes of legend. These tales are taken for granted. They are so abundant. It makes me angry sometimes.” She narrowed her gaze and glanced up to find the Commander watching her with a cautiously attentive look. Attentive. From a shemlen. What would happen next? “We Dalish have lost most of our history and our legends. Things like holidays…What we do remember, we hold dear.” The Commander nodded.

“Stories belong to everyone, and we should share them,” she said quietly. Velanna felt a flash of irritation and shook her head.

“Does the human child value the tale of Paragon Aeducan as much as he does Dane and the Werewolf?” she said. She had barely had time to even learn those stories. They had been in a book of tales she had skimmed in the room of books before getting frustrated at the lack of Dalish tales and putting it down. If the Commander thought it odd she knew those tales, she did not make a sign. Instead, she simply smiled.

“It depends on the human child, I suppose.” Velanna gave a frustrated hiss.

“Stories connect us to our past!” she insisted. “They shape a people in profound ways! Without them, we are lost.” The Commander nodded.

“I agree,” she said quietly. Velanna was a little taken aback at that a moment. And then she pursed her lips, glancing back down to the book in her arms. “I think I know what I will do with your gift. I will fill it with stories.” When she looked up, there was a fire in the Commander’s eyes, and she nodded.

“That,” she said simply, “is a fine idea.”

“It helps that your library is a collection of drivel,” Velanna shot back. “This Satinalia, is it only the feast with the strange tree decorations and angry cooks?” The Commander laughed softly.

“No, we will be attending a party in the city. You are invited, but not required to go.” A party? Velanna felt an odd thrill at that. One the one hand the idea was preposterous and strange. She would not want to set foot inside a shemlen city or a shemlen party. But she had never had many friends. Seranni had always made them for her, and even then it had been hard. She had spent so long being alone, that people made her nervous. The idea she could be invited to anything… She smoothed the emotions from her features as best she could.

“A party,” she said flatly. “What for?”

“Someone will try to kill us there,” the Commander replied in a chipper tone. “And when they do, we will stop them, and then we shall eat all their food, drink all their wine, and dance to their music. What do you think?”

“It sounds ridiculous,” Velanna said curtly. It was ridiculous. And someone was going to try to kill them? What sort of party was that? Shemlen customs were so strange.

“Well,” the Commander said simply, opening the last door to the hall and revealing that she had been on the right track all along, and just taken the one wrong turn. “You are not required to attend, but should you wish to, I asked Mistress Woolsey to make you a gown. It won’t be Dalish style, I’m afraid, but it will still be yours, whether you choose to use it or not. Consider it…a second gift.” Velanna stared.

A gown.

She had not had new clothes in several years. The Dalish hunted of course, but pelts and leathers were given to those that needed them most, or else all of it went to the craftsman for the clan’s use. It was not often that someone was able to get an entirely new outfit. And here this shemlen Queen was giving her an entire new dress. Just for a single party. That she maybe would not even wear. She glanced down at the Grey Warden tunic she was currently sporting and gnawed at her lip a little.

“I shall have to see it before I decide,” she finally said curtly, as if she could ever give such a gift back, even if from a shemlen. The Commander gave a soft laugh.

“Agreed.” Her eyes were glistening. “Above all, Satinalia is about family, and the Wardens are a family, if you choose it to be.” The thought made her a little uncomfortable, but it was not so different from the Dalish clans, she supposed. “I’d like the family to be together this holiday. But that is really up to all of you individually.” And with that said she left Velanna standing staring in the middle of the floor, her bare feet kissing warm wood before the blazing firepit. And the entire room smelled of pine.

***

“You’re pensive,” came the gentle tones of Bann Alfstanna. Fergus closed his eyes a moment, then turned to her, shaking his head.

“Just…thinking.” She considered him with sad eyes, and then nodded, quietly understanding that it hurt to talk of it, to think on it. It had been a long journey trying to put Highever to rights again. The ghosts and memories still haunted its halls, and with the fogs that had rolled in off the seas, he found himself feeling the chill of the Waking Sea for the first time in a long time.

There had been no bodies. There had not even been remains. One of the servants that had survived told him that the Howe soldiers had gathered up all the corpses and burnt them in a pyre in the courtyard, and that made his entire heart and head ache. What had happened to the ashes since then, he did not know.

There was nothing left of memory. Only belongings, and his own haunting thoughts.

He wished he could be with Eideann, but even that was a cold pain now. He knew she was in Amaranthine, dealing with the vestiges of the Blight and Rendon Howe’s treachery. He wished he had been there to help her, to get the vengeance he needed.

Alfstanna had tried to fill the halls with a semblance of peace. Several of their cousins were in attendance, though they were hardly dealing with a massive number of guests. Fergus himself was sleeping in guest rooms, unable to face the family quarters, and Alfstanna had taken over a number of the affairs of the estate while he dealt with the remains of a tattered life and a frayed mind.

Her hand crept into his own then, where he stood on the battlements looking into the stormy skies over the Waking Sea, and she leaned her forehead onto his shoulder.

“Eideann sent you a gift of two Amaranthine horses,” she told him. “And we’ve had word from Arl Bryland in South Reach. The King is planning to spend First Day here. They’ve had luck repelling the stragglers of the horde on Bylands lands and are planning to deal with Loghain sympathizers in the western Bannorn next.”

“He is welcome, of course,” Fergus said simply. He could hardly turn a king away, though it felt odd that King Alistair would visit with a noble entourage without his sister among them. “We will make ready to receive him.” She nodded and pulled back, but his hand tightened on hers. “Alfstanna?” she paused and considered him and he met her eyes, the same shape as Eleanor’s had been. “Thank you…for staying…for helping. I know you have your own lands to tend to, and that it has been difficult for you to remain here. I appreciate all the help you have provided.” Alfstanna simply smiled slightly, shaking her head a little sadly.

“Cousin,” she told him, voice gentle. “That is what family is for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES:
> 
> A lot of Oghren's original Awakening arc was very...dubious. His character appeared quite altered, and given where we left off with him in regards to Dances Book 4, it did not feel right undoing all of his character development. It is to be understood that Oghren has, at this point, had a relapse back into drinking. He was improving towards the Final Battle, but now he's hit another low. I have deliberately saved a few of his dialogues from Origins specifically for this portion of his arc, because it felt more characteristic to have them there, especially given he was only introduced midway through Book 3 and therefore did not have as much time as the others to develop. Hopefully this creates a more genuine and authentic scene. The original Awakening scenes were cursory compared to how Oghren as a character needs to be handled (carefully and with attention to significant aspects of his character), and the story as a whole suffered for it, including the relationship he had with a Warden-Commander he already knew. Hopefully, this version is better.
> 
> Velanna:  
> Mythal lasa mir suledin = Mythal give me strength.  
> Ma nuvenin = As you wish.  
> Tel'abelas = I'm not sorry.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran has an encounter that changes everything; Alistair deals with darkspawn in South Reach and tries to bond with the nobility; Eideann and her Wardens set out for Bann Esmerelle's party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence, domestic abuse situations (mentioned)
> 
> Comments always welcome :)

Their breath misted in the air as they made their way through the covered alleyway towards the docks. The streets were older here, houses built into the very walls, and full of arches and old twists and turns where the Orlesian architecture had clashed with the original town. The low, arched ceiling had kept the snow from the passage, so the cobbles were swept clear here by the passage of people. Despite that, the way was empty now, and too narrow for the transport of goods that made up most of the traffic. 

They moved with the wary and rapid pace of those who were doing their best to be gone before they were noticed at all. But any close examination could tell that their cloaks were too fine for simple merchants, their stride too determined for commoners, the way they moved too unguarded for those unused to spending a lifetime surrounded by guardsmen. They were nobility. That much he could tell. Which, though, and where they thought they meant to go, that was another matter. 

He carefully pulled back from the cold glass window of the brothel and then sipped at the pewter goblet of warm mulled wine in his hand before letting his brown eyes slide to the bed, where a woman clad only in a silver pendant, her hair piled into a messy style atop her head, was toying with his armor on the bed. She lay on her stomach atop thick black bear furs, half covered in the blankets. The room stank of sex. Zevran breathed it in with a small smile and then lowered the goblet before moving towards the bed and reaching out. Her hand found his in the space between them, lacing their fingers together. 

“I will need that back,” he said in a low voice, leaning down to almost kiss her before sliding his chestpiece from her grasp. She gave a soft moue, lips painted a deep red, and leaned towards him. But he just smiled and carefully drew a string of pearls from his pouch, dribbling it into her hands in a glinting pile. And then he did kiss her, catching her lips in his, and set a few gold sovereigns atop the string of pearls. “I must go, my beautiful goddess,” he told her in a low murmur, and she flashed him a brilliant smile, black hair tumbling about her face as she relinquished the rest of his armor and curled the strand of pearls about her neck, twining it in her fingers.

“It is always a pleasure to see you, Zevran,” she said softly.

“I know,” he told her, “though not as much a pleasure as it is to see you.” He buckled his armor on over his tunic and then considered her. “But I must go, _cara_. Or I shall miss my appointment.” She gave him a sad little smile and let him then, watching him through her lashes as he let himself out.

The cold hit him hard, and he gave a soft curse in Antivan as he let the door shut behind him, and then he swept along the arched alleyway towards the docks.

He caught sight of his prey again as he emerged from the alley onto the docks and noticed finery across the wharf, the backs of his too-busy nobility trying to look completely inconspicuous. He skirted the cargo stacked across the pier, keeping one eye on them as he considered the rest of the pier. His strides were the determined sort, completely normal in all ways. He had long been good at following people. 

He passed an Antivan trading cog and took note of it with interest. It was not entirely strange to see it, but the two nobles that were weaving through the crowds appeared to have considered it a moment. Where they looking for an Antivan ship? He felt a pit of nervousness in his stomach and turned to consider the stalls where the Harbor Masters were weighing trade customs and levying taxes for incoming goods. 

His eye caught a collection of garments offloaded from the cog, and a flicker of interest quirked as a smile at the corner of his lips. He wove his way towards them, considering the goods, and ended up walking away again with a new short cape of fine brown velvet lined with Antivan silk and embroidered with golden scrollwork at the hem, and a hat of brown Antivan leather pinned up on one side with a pheasant feather that he settled on his head as he walked.

And his slight detour got him a better glimpse of his quarry. He recognized only one: a woman with a severe set to her gaze at each ship she considered. He placed her after a moment as being one of those that had been among Eideann’s petitioners when he had arrived with the knight guilty of murder. His eyes narrowed a little and he swung the cape about his shoulders, fastening the neat clasp at his throat and turning up the collar against the chill. 

He heard a shout in Antivan, and the nobles ahead froze. He kept walking, because it would be obvious to stop, picking a random building beyond to make his way too. And he was glad for the hat, because the voice he heard was very definitely calling to them, and he was very definitely on the list of people to keep an eye out for. 

“My Lords.” Someone was coming down the gangplank towards them. Zevran carried on past, seemingly inconsequential, and made his way towards the building he had chosen as his destination. Every so often he looked to one of the ships, as if he were trying to find a particular one, and as he did so he let his eyes wander.

The speaker and a companion had greeted the two nobles now, and he saw them head off towards one of the taverns lining the wharf where sailors often got their drinks. He gave a small smirk. It was either foolishness at not realizing that those nobles had never been in a wharf-side tavern, or else a deliberate attempt to make them uncomfortable.

But that inkling of nervousness would not go away. It was too…familiar. He grimaced and carried on until he finally reached his building. And then he turned instead, making his way around through a backstreet to circle around to the tavern again.

The interior was neat and tidy, full of Amaranthine oak and almost empty. There were only three patrons in the common room, and the innkeeper behind the bar who looked up at his entrance. Zevran glanced about and saw the separate parlor, and coming from within were the soft cadences of Antivan. Beyond were the stairs that climbed to the next floor. He gave a nod to the innkeeper and then slipped a sovereign onto the counter with a wink before moving towards the steps.

He paused as soon as he was out of sight, crossing his arms and bowing his head to listen in to whatever was being arranged.

“It is a simple matter, of course. And we will handle everything,” the Antivan voice was saying. Zevran peered at the floorboards, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes a little more. “Your mistress will not regret doing business with us.” He shook his head slightly, touching the brim of it with one hand. His other slipped under his cape. He knew what this was, and he was willing to bet at any moment the second Antivan would show up. There had definitely been two, but the other was not inside that room. He knew enough to pin a mark beyond a thin wall. 

Crows. He bit the side of his tongue a little, wondering how long they had intended to keep their promise to his _bella_ after all. He had known, and perhaps so had she, that it was only a momentary promise. Such things could never last. Indeed, few promises ever did.

“My Lord. My lady.” He looked up, recognizing his time was up, and turned to the stairs. Right into a knife.

“Zevran the whoreson,” came the quiet voice of the second Crow, the one not in the room. “Hands where I can see them.” 

Zevran shifted his hand, which had been going for his knife, out of his cape, and put them up at shoulder-height, fixing the other Crow with a simple smirk.

“I had hoped you would be careless,” he said simply. “Is this the part where you kill me, or you talk until I find a way to trick you and escape?” The other Crow shook his head bitterly.

“Verbanchel for you,” he said simply. The Crow Prison, where the torturers kept their captives and Crows went to disappear. “Too many useful secrets. You have some powerful friends, it seems.” So it came to that in the end. Enemies at all corners. Zevran’s lips twisted into a dazzling smile. 

“ _Perfecto_ ,” he hummed, and then he moved. Is knee came up, catching the other Crows and dragging him down the steps. He had only a moment, and could not waste it drawing his own daggers. He wrenched the knife the Crow was holding up and around and across, and blood splurted out from the man’s slit throat as Zevran stepped aside. And then he let the knife fall and drew his own, more comfortable with their familiar grip, as the door to the parlor flew open. The Crow in the hall took one look at him and then cut a laugh and ran, shaking his head. Zevran gave a hiss of anger.

“ _Maldicion_!” he spat. Too late to catch him now. And if he tried, the entire docks would be flooded with men looking for him. That, it appeared, was signaling the end of his time in Amaranthine. He turned his cold gaze on the nobles, who stood inside the room, staring at him and the body of the Crow at the foot of the steps. Zevran stepped in, sliding the door shut with his foot.

“Lord Guy!” the woman said in fear, fumbling at her belt. She died first, a quick jab up and around and her corpse fell to the floorboards with a thud.

“Liza!” the man cried in alarm, and then he backed away, until he hit the wall and clawed at the thick frame of the window, scrabbling to escape. Zevran knife pricked his throat and the other came to rest just above his groan.

“I shall carve you like a sheep at slaughter if you do not answer my questions, _Lord Guy_ ,” he said sharply. The man’s eyes were wide, and Zevran heard the trickle of water and the air was suddenly ripe with the stench of urine. Zevran raised an eyebrow. “ _Braska_ ,” he spat, giving the noble a disgusted look. “What are you, a child?” He twisted his hand around the dagger, shaking his head. “When? When is the contract for?”

“The…the masque.”

“And your mistress?”

“The Bann! Who else?!” The man was shaking, and he stank. “Please…don’t kill me…We’re only doing what we have to to defend our lands. She kills _everyone_ who stands against her. Can’t you see?!” At first Zevran thought he meant the Bann. But then he realized that was wrong. “Teryn Loghain was a hero! He stood against the Orlesians when no one else would. And she lopped his head off in front of every noble in the kingdom to make an example! And Rendon Howe…that keep belongs to his son, to his daughter! Can’t you see, she’s a tyrant?!” 

“I chose that tyrant over yours,” Zevran said quietly. “Politics is a game, my friend. You play your cards close, or you lose. And sooner or later, everyone loses. This time is your turn.”

“Amaranthine will stand against her. Ferelden will stand against her. She has no right! No right!” Zevran simply shook his head and silenced the man with a single thrust, letting him slide to a heap near Lady Liza and die in a pool of his blood.

“I do not care for what is right,” he said simply, crouching beside the man and meeting his dimming eyes as he wiped his daggers clean on the velvet doublet Lord Guy was wearing. “She keeps her promises. And I keep mine.” The last of the life left Lord Guy, and Zevran sighed, standing up again and making sure there was no blood on his new cape and hat. And then he sheathed his knives in a fluid motion at his waist beneath the cape and slid the door open again. 

The patrons and the innkeeper were staring at him. He simply considered them, then flipped a coin towards the innkeeper for the trouble and gave a small bow of head.

“Long live King Alistair. Long live Queen Eideann,” he told them, and the patrons echoed him weakly. And then he swept out, eyes cold and severe, trying to think of every manner of murder plot the Crows might use, and wondering how long he had before they came for him again.

***

His crown felt heavy, the solid silverite across his brow cold in the winter air that had settled over South Reach. The area itself was the joining of plains, woods, and water, the frozen River Drakon shining like glass in the distance where the town itself stood behind large stone walls. The bannorn lay to the north, plains covered in thick snows. South was Southron Hills and the Korcari Wilds where they joined the Brecilian Forest. It made him nostalgic to think on those woods. He adjusted his glove, fur-lined leather, and then gripped his sword. At his side, Angus gave a soft gruff.

That dog…so determined and diligent. He smiled a little and scruffed the creature’s ears before remembering that the kaddis slicked across Angus’s fur was oily and would stick to his gloves. He considered the black smear on his gloves and sighed, then glanced up again across the snows.

Behind him, to the south, was all that remained of the darkspawn in the area, or at least those that had not fled deep into the Wilds where they would submerge themselves again within the Deep Roads. He considered the bloodied, trampled snows and frowned, and hoped that Eideann was managing in the north. He had an entire regiment with him at South Reach, men of the King’s Army that had come to fight back the remains of the horde. Eideann had only a handful of soldiers and the Wardens she had inducted. He did not like to think she might need his help and he was not there to give it. 

News had arrived from Denerim that the trade routes had been cleared between the capital and Amaranthine, and for that at least he was grateful. The docks had taken a beating in Denerim and were still under reconstruction, meaning for the time being Amaranthine was a better source of trade from Antiva or the Free Marches. For the first time in a long time he could see a brighter horizon. And at least, in that, his heart was glad. 

“Alistair.” He glanced back to see Teagan striding through the snow towards him, blood splattering his Redcliffe chainmail. His shortcloak in bright crimson was laced beneath his pauldron and cast over his opposite shoulder, secured with a bronze pin of the Redcliffe Tower. His hair was mussed, and his cheeks rosy from the air. Alistair gave him a nod, and Angus butted against his hand for more pets. “Seems to be the last of them,” Teagan said, panting and coming alongside the King to look at the damage done. “Bryland is chasing down a few that ran towards the western ridge, but aside from that we appear to have wiped out this band.”

“Good,” Alistair said simply. “I’m ready for something warm to drink.” Teagan grinned and then clapped him on the shoulder. 

“I’ve never seen you so somber over good news,” he said quietly. Alistair just shook his head, and the man’s grey gaze quieted a little. “You don’t need to worry about her, you know. She’s tough as nails, and shrewd, and determined to have her way. She could make bricks grow legs and walk out the way if she decided a wall needed a door.” Alistair smirked a little at that and caught Angus’s leather collar with his free hand. 

“She wasn’t the same after the Battle of Denerim. You know as much as I.” Teagan’s smile was gone now. The hard planes of his face were prominent in profile, a strong nose and a brow that made him appear sophisticated. 

“I know,” he finally said. “But neither you, nor she are alone anymore.”

“Oh, Teagan, I just…worry. She thinks she has to carry the world, and she’s mad enough to try,” Alistair admitted. In the distance, a troop of cavalry lead by Arl Leonas Bryland was emerging from over the ridge. Teagan glanced to him, quiet a moment, then shook his head.

“This here is one less thing to worry about, then,” he finally said in a soft voice. He reached to scruff Angus’s fur himself and the dog gave a low grunt, half-covered in snow and stinking to the Maker from being wet. 

“There are still lots of other things I could worry about,” Alistair insisted sardonically. “Cheese shortages. What I’ll wear the first time the Orlesian ambassador comes to tea. Whether or not this dog actually follows me or is simply at my heel because I smell like dinner. Those sorts of things.” Teagan snorted and then sheathed his sword as Bryland’s cavalry approached. The Arl circled up his men and gave a soldier’s bow from atop his destrier.

“Dead,” he said, “and none too soon. Not a bad day’s hunt.” He gave a quiet, small grin, and his gaze flickered to his town in the distance, his horse dancing beneath him. “Shall we retire for the day, boy, or are you looking for something else to stab with that sword?”

“Bryland…” Teagan said with a quiet laugh, and the Bryland, so severe at Denerim, gave a wicked grin at them both.

“Your Majesty, if you’re ready?” Alistair grinned and nudged Angus back towards the town, sheathing his sword, as Bryland swung down from his destrier and handed the reins to one of his squires. “We’ll meet you back there. Have the Seneschal prepare something for when we arrive,” he commanded, and then clasped his gloved hands behind his back and took to walking beside Teagan and Alistair in the direction of his Keep.

“Thank you again for your help here, Arl Bryland,” Alistair said, watching Angus chasing winter hares out into the snowy fields. The man, tall and lean, simply shook his head.

“I should be the one thanking you. What you did on that tower…if you had not won your crown before, you deserved it for that alone, boy.” His hazel gaze surveyed the landscape to the south. “In any case, I can’t let the King of Ferelden clear my lands of darkspawn without my help, can I?” Alistair smiled, whistling for Angus, and the dog came. Lucky that, or he would have appeared quite the fool. Instead, Angus came to bounce around Teagan’s legs a moment with a sharp and happy bark, and Alistair watched him with a smile.

“I think,” Teagan said quietly, “that Eideann’s dog likes you.” Alistair grinned and nodded.

“Woman gave you her dog?” Leonas said with a look of amusement and surprise. “I thought he was yours, but it appears Eideann Cousland has her heart set on you after all boy. She wouldn’t part with that creature for anything when she was younger. Bit the Kennel Master for trying to haul him off as a pup one day.” Alistair pondered that a moment, laughing, and then bowed his head a little, considering the town of South Reach in the distance. A good forty minutes’ walk, but he liked walking. It made him think of simpler days. And it gave him time to imagine a younger Eideann biting someone for Angus’s sake.

“Were you not an acquaintance of her father?” he asked after a moment, glancing to Arl Bryland. The Arl just laughed and shook his head.

“No, boy, I was like a brother to him. He grew up here during the Occupation. He and I running these fields. Bryce Cousland and his damned duty. First to throw his weight behind your father when the time came. Dragged me into it, and Rendon Howe too, that slimy bastard. Said we were honor-bound to do what was right. Told us Couslands always do their duty first. And they do. They always have. Make us all look bad, damnable lot of them.” He grinned at the memory, and then his smile slipped a little. “But his son’s a good man, and he’ll be a fine Teyrn. He’s fair and he does what he has to. Fergus Cousland has a great many friends, boy, and can be the best friend you’ve ever had if you treat him with respect. Isn’t that right, Teagan?” Teagan gave a small smile.

“Fergus is Fergus. He likes laughter, and games, and teasing his friends and family. He made Cailan play at riddles when they were younger, just so he could win, to remind Cailan he was as human as the next man. If he’s wary of you, it’s because he’s worried for Eideann. He lost his wife and son at Highever, and Eideann is all he has left now, except his cousins along the Storm Coast.” He considered the lands about them a moment, then looked to the two of them, honest and sincere. “Fergus Cousland is one of the best friends I’ve ever had. I’d trust him with my life.” Bryland nodded.

“The Couslands are all dependable, I’ll give them that,” he said simply. “Once they throw their lot in with you, they’ll die on your sword if you ask them to.” His gaze flickered to Alistair. “But you’re marrying into an old house, boy, and with old houses comes old pride. Eideann has that in spades, thinks she’s right all the time. Watch out for that, eh?”

“The Theirins are an old house too,” Teagan said. 

“Aye, but you didn’t raise this lad to be Theirin, did you Teagan? You raised him to be everything else instead: stable-hand, Templar, Grey Warden…And that’s a good thing.” His eyes fell on Alistair. “Means you look at those people and you see people, boy. And that’s more important than anything in this country. You’re their hope. And that’s what Ferelden needs.” Alistair pondered that a moment, then shook his head.

“What Ferelden needs is someone capable,” he finally replied. “And I have to be that man. Hope is not enough sometimes.” 

“Well, you have Eamon as your Chancellor, and Teagan and I are at least good for hunting down darkspawn. You’ll be the half-brother to the Teyrn of Highever soon, with Bryce Cousland’s Blue Flame as your Queen. I expect between the lot of us we can muddle through.” He considered Alistair a moment. “Given that Bryce was almost a brother to me, I do feel obliged to tell you, for Eideann’s sake, that if you ever harm her, there will be no safe haven in all of Ferelden for you, boy, or the Free Marches either if I have my way. You hear me?” Alistair grinned, ducking his head.

“You need not throw your threats at me, Arl Bryland,” he said, determined to sound as kingly as possible in the face of that. Surely such threats were a form of treason? It made him chuckle to even think on it, actually. He’d had worse from Redcliffe servants or Chantry sisters over the years and they were meant in earnest. Instead he met Bryland’s hazel gaze. “Eideann Cousland is the only woman I will ever love. We have reclaimed dwarven cities, purged a Circle of abominations and demons, cured a werewolf curse in ancient ruins, and settled a Civil War, all to raise an army so that together we could stand atop Fort Drakon and send an Archdemon back to the Void. Who else compares, when all that is done? And how could I not respect her, watching her stand against a corrupted Old God?” Bryland gave a laugh at that, conceding the point.

“The thing about your fiancée,” Bryland said simply, “is that she’s predictable in her duty but like wildfire in how she chooses to act on it. I’m hoping you’re the steady one.” Alistair laughed at that and shook his head.

“Sorry, Bryland,” he said frankly. “I’m just the one that laughs and lets her do it.” Angus bounced about him, so he bent to scoop up some snow and toss it. The dog leaped, trying to catch it in his jaws, but could not. Alistair shook his head with a smile. 

“I have had news from Amaranthine.” Alistair and Teagan both looked up, and caught Bryland pondering his town. “Eideann’s recruited my nephew.” 

“Your - ?” Alistair blinked, confused. Who?

“I thought Thomas was killed in the Blight,” Teagan said simply, eyes narrowed.

“Not Thomas. Nathaniel. The eldest. Rendon Howe’s heir, or he would have been, if Eliane didn’t have it in her bones to get him out of that house.” He looked angry suddenly. Very angry. He gazed to Alistair, recognizing the confusion here, and his lips twisted into a sneer. “You didn’t know, did you? That snake Howe married my sister. And he was the death of her. You saw what he was doing as Arl of Denerim. He had three children with my little sister, and when Eliane was dead, he turned his vitriol on them.” Alistair’s smile was gone now. Instead, he was watching Bryland warily. Angus had sensed the mood and was giving a low growl. Alistair quieted him with a soft touch behind his shoulders. 

“I was not aware,” he said quietly. “I am sorry.” 

“No,” Bryland replied, shaking his head and sighing. “I am sorry. I should have done more for them, and for the Couslands. Bryce kept Howe close because _I_ asked him to watch over my niece and nephews. Eliane convinced Howe to send Nathaniel away. Delilah was meant to marry and escape that life, but Howe wouldn’t hear of anything less than an Arl’s son for her, same as he was. Hurt his pride. I only have Habren, and Bryce only had Eideann. Howe wouldn’t have a match outside of Ferelden either. He was determined. Tried to arrange something with Urien…that piece of work Vaughan.” He made a face. “He would hardly have been better, but thankfully Urien said no. Thomas…Thomas took to drinking and whoring to escape it.” Bryland shook his head. “With the Howes of Amaranthine toppled, and Eideann ruling there instead, and Fergus seizing control of his Terynir again, things will be hotly contested in the region as it is. And now my nephew has reappeared.” Alistair considered it a moment. A Howe. The thought unnerved him a little. He had seen the Denerim estate where Howe had been imprisoning and torturing political prisoners. He did not like the idea of one of his children so close to Eideann.

But then, Eideann had always played her cards close to her chest. She had plans, and secondary plans, and tertiary plans. Everything was in layers, or at least appeared to be. If she had made a Howe a Grey Warden, she had her reasons for it.

“Do you know how he is handling it?”

“Bitterly I would imagine,” Bryland said simply, “but it appears your Queen knows what she’s doing, or at least seems to. Nate is often in her company these days. Either they’re coordinating to unify Amaranthine against whatever darkspawn are up there regardless of bad blood, or else he saw Rendon for the bastard he was.” He gave a small flicker of a smirk. “Service in nobility is not just a lesson the Couslands know. Bryce learned it here with Eliane and me first, and I would like to think Nate is reclaiming what honor he can.” He bowed his head.

“Eideann makes strange friends,” Alistair finally replied, shaking his head. Angus had settled down and was plodding alongside him now through the snows. “She saved the assassin Loghain and Howe sent to kill us. They’re very close now. Likewise the Orlesian Bard turned Chantry Lay Sister. Or the Qunari who calls her Kadan because she helped him find his sword. Or the drunken dwarven warrior who was once married to a Dwarven Paragon but then helped us kill her in the Deep Roads. Or the fact Eideann is actually friends with a golem.” He shook his head. “Maker, I’ll just have to trust her to know what she’s doing this time as well.” Bryland was shaking his head. Teagan was peering off into the snows again in contemplation. 

“Leonas is like her uncle, and I am like yours,” he finally said with a small smile. “Oh to be that young again.” 

“Let’s just all be related and leave it at that, shall we?” Alistair smirked. Leonas gave him a small smile.

“With Teyrn Loghain gone, Gwaren reverts to the crown, boy. Gwaren lands encompass all of southern Ferelden, and they belong to the Theirins by bloodright, if you wished to claim them.” Alistair was aware of that, and he did not like it, but he had been forced to act on it. It was Arl Eamon who had reminded him of that fact. 

“That is part of the reason I am down here, and she is up there in Amaranthine,” Alistair said with a small smile. 

“Such a union, the Queen of the North and the King of the South. With this you will unite Ferelden more completely than even Cailan hoped to,” Bryland said thoughtfully, watching his feet in the snows. “You could not have planned it better if you tried.” Alistair just grimaced, looking south towards the Korcari Wilds, and his mind went to Eideann in those days following the Battle of Denerim, the secret she had carried and the price they had paid to be rid of the Archdemon. There would be no prince or princess uniting Ferelden after them. Not her child anyway.

And he did not want to think of Morrigan. He did not want to consider what it would mean to him to admit he may have a son or daughter somewhere growing up without him. His eyes narrowed a little, and he wondered about Maric, and then he pursed his lips.

“I hope you are right,” he said quietly. “Ferelden needs that strength now, after the Blight. We need strong alliances and a united front.” He kicked at the snow as he walked, tucking his arms inside his cloak. “When the darkspawn on the surface are quelled,” he said quietly, “and the last remnants of the Civil War dealt with, we will turn our eyes to the Deep Roads.” Teagan and Bryland both glanced to him, wary the first and severe the latter. 

“Is that such a good idea? Those tunnels are said to be Blighted, and what if you uncover another of the Archdemons?” Teagan asked quietly. Bryland’s narrowed gaze was boring into him.

“All two that are presumably left?” Alistair replied quietly, his look calm. “The darkspawn appear wherever they wish because they travel the tunnels at whim. If we could re-establish a dwarven presence in at least some of the Deep Roads, those lands above and below would be clear. No more darkspawn popping out of the ground. No more raids. And the dwarves could regain some of the culture they have lost. Imagine the benefits if we were the ones to help them. Eideann put King Bhelen on his throne with that goal in mind, with the forces of Orzammar in mind. What good could be done if the roads beneath the Coastlands were cleared? What even if they could reach Gwaren? Trade alone would flourish, and we could rebuild with that. We could make Ferelden prosper again.” 

“Ambitious boy,” Bryland said quietly, “but perhaps Ferelden has had its share of war.”

“I’m a soldier, Arl Bryland, and always have been. The question is not are we done with war but is war done with us. If we don’t secure our borders now, what comes next?” He had been through all the alternatives with Eamon and Teagan and Fergus Cousland and even Eideann. He had considered what might happen if the darkspawn beneath Ferelden remained unharried. And he was a Grey Warden. Always. “I would rather rest soundly on the understanding that the darkspawn cannot surface like they did near Denerim again. We cannot withstand another attack.” Bryland glanced unhappily over his lands.

“Something to consider,” he finally said softly. “You are the darkspawn expert, boy, not I. I don’t like the idea, but I recognize the strategy. And we didn’t make you King so you could avoid the difficult decisions.” He flashed a small smirk then and shook his head. “For the moment though, you’re meant to be planning a wedding, not a war.” 

“Roses and laurels,” Alistair said simply, “and the traditional vows. That’s all we need. Officiated by Denerim’s Grand Cleric for posterity’s sake.” He shook his head. “As terrible as it sounds gentlemen, the ceremony is for all of you, not for us. As far as I am concerned, in the eyes of the Maker, Eideann Cousland-Theirin is already my wife.” He gave a whistle and Angus came dancing about his heels again, jumping about playfully in the snow. He glanced to Bryland with a small smile. “I hope your nephew is a capable man. We need all the good Wardens we can find.” 

Bryland just gave a nod and then settled into telling old stories about Nathaniel and his sister and soon his own wife. Teagan threw in a line here or there. It was odd to listen to the world he now belonged to when it was still a world he could never touch, and he enjoyed the stories, for all they were of happier times.

At South Reach the servants had baths waiting, and plates of hot food and mugs of warmed mulled wine that smelled of warm Ferelden spices. Alistair took a mug and drank it down quickly, feeling lightheaded. In the hall, the Banns were in open celebration at their victory earlier that afternoon. The hall itself was decorated with red and gold ribbons, and fir branches and holly, and furs carpeted the stone floors of the keep. 

Amidst the revelry, however, Alistair found himself missing Eideann, and even as they gathered about and sang and cheered their victory, his thoughts went to her. 

When he at last retired to his chambers, he found a letter left atop his pillows by a servant, stamped closed with Eideann’s seal. He settled onto the mattress, kicking off his boots, and tore the thing open to read the words. 

And when it was done he felt no better. Darkspawn in the north that were breaking from the Blight and strategizing? He felt a little sick to think on it. More than ever he could sense that their battle was not yet over. There was so much they still did not know about the darkspawn, so much they needed to learn, and with little support from Weisshaupt since the Blight began… He forced himself to stop, to pull his attention back. Eideann was Warden-Commander. He was the King of Ferelden. He needed to focus on the Bannorn now, the last of the Civil War, and to stabilize those lands under his purvey. When that was done, when those needs were met, he could turn his attention back to the north, to Eideann, to his Queen, to the darkspawn. 

***

“I am not going to ask where you got the hat and cloak. I’m going to pretend they were gifts and that is that,” Eideann said quietly, carefully tying the sash of her red velvet and gold silk gown. 

“Gifts for myself, _bella_ ,” Zevran said with a grin, considering her. “Radiant as ever. You shall shock all the assassins.” She gave him a dark glare in the reflection, then settled her emerald and gold crown into her hair, wetting her lips as she considered herself in the mirror. “I shall endeavor to ensure no one succeeds today?” She smiled and then did turn back meeting his gaze in actuality. 

“That would be appreciated,” she told him. And then she touched the red Warden pendant at her neck and her smile faded. “If they do manage…”

“Ride immediately for South Reach to warn our dear Alistair and then go to Highever for your brother. I know, _bella_ , but an Archdemon could not kill you.” 

“An Archdemon was not exactly specifically trying for me,” she said darkly. “I have a gift for you. There in the box on the chair.” She nodded with her chin in the mirror, and he slipped from her bed to the box, a wry smile on his lips. 

“What is it?” he asked, and she smiled.

“Open it and see.”

“Gifts like this in the Crows often exploded or released poison, _bella_ ,” he told her warily, considering the clasp. 

“Yes, because after everything, I want you dead, my friend. If I recall, though, it was you trying to kill me, not the other way around.” He grinned, then flipped the lid open and his lips parted a little before he gave a soft laugh. 

“Oh, Lady Eideann, they are…exquisite.” 

“Dalish gloves,” she told him. “Made with Antivan leather.” He drew them out, setting down the box, and tested them, then grinned. “Lined in fennec fur,” she added at the glint in his eye. 

“You spoil me,” he grinned, and she shook her head.

“I owe you,” she replied. “How many times have you saved my life?” He sombered. “There is more.” He drew forth a silver pendant stamped with the Grey Warden griffon enclosed in the laurels of Highever flanked by the royal mabari. “That is so that anyone who see you knows exactly who you are friends with, and touching you shall mean war with me.” He slipped it over his head, eyes sad, and then glanced up at her.

“ _Bella_ , after this evening, I will not be able to stay any longer in your company,” he said quietly. “I will need to flee. The Crows know I am here now.” Her smile faded and she reached to catch his hand in its leather glove, meeting his gaze.

“I will miss you, my friend. More than you may know. Do not lose touch?” He smiled, warmly this time, and bent to kiss her hand carefully.

“Never, my Lady,” he told her genuinely. There was a sadness to his eyes. “You are my only friend in the world, are you not?” 

“Surely not.” He smiled.

“My only true friend,” he corrected, and then sighed, stepped back and releasing her hand. “I shall meet you in the hall, _bella_ ,” he told her, hand resting on the hilt of one of the knives tucked brazenly into his belt. And then he turned on his heel, whistling I Am the One as he made his way out the door. Eideann pursed her lips and glanced at her hand a moment before carefully reaching to slide her gold and emerald ring alongside her silverite and iron wedding band. 

“I am the one who can recount what was lost. I am the one who’ll live on,” she murmured to herself.

It took her only a few more moments of dressing to eventually make her way down to the hall, where her party was clad in golds and reds and greens. Velanna, a sprig of holly tucked into her hair where it was tied back, gave her a quiet look as she entered.

“Are you certain you wish to go if they’re determined to kill you?” she asked frankly, arms crossed under her red velvet and white-fur mantle. The Grey Warden griffon held it closed, just like she had wanted. Eideann made a point to profusely thank whichever of her staff had gone to the trouble to get them done quickly. “This is a singularly foolish plan.”

“Of course. But if we don’t confront them now, what good is cowering in the shadows waiting for another siege of the Vigil?” Velanna gave a sniff but had no reply for that, so instead she simply looked away in irritation and Eideann glanced to the others in the room.

She had been giving presents out all week. Anders had his bell and collar for the kitten he was trying to smuggle into Bann Esmerelle’s masque, and a book on Phylacteries which he had accepted warily but had hardly pulled his nose from in the past few days. Oghren’s new bronto-hide baldric was already fastened to his battleaxe. His other had been worn from years of use. Captain Garahel was sporting a new greatsword, Vigilance, the Warden seal on the shoulder of the blade, enchanted with a fine dweomer. Enchantments were easier now that Dagna and Sandal had come to some sort of discovery on how to make the best runes. 

For Seneschal Varel, a richly woven brown wool cloak with a bear-fur lining embroidered in white with the royal mabari and clasped with a golden mabari pin. She had helped Nesiara with the embroidery herself, though she had not half the knack for it as the elven woman. She had gifted Mistress Woolsey with a foldable counting table, and a leather portfolio file engraved with the Grey Warden sigil. But the best…the best was for Nathaniel Howe.

She had thought long and hard on what to get him. It had been an undertaking to come up with the sort of gift that might signify exactly what he meant to her and what their relationship was now. With all that lay between the Howes and the Couslands, she had needed to be careful. In the end, she had settled for something simple, and she had sent Nesiara to deliver it in its wrappings, so she did not have to make him uncomfortable when he looked at it himself.

It was a wooden box made of Amaranthine oak, full of bowstrings and beeswax, a whetstone, a bottle of oil and a cloth, the trappings of a ranger’s kit. On to the top was a wood-burnt bear sigil, the Bear of the Howes that matched his bow. And underneath the lid, carved into the wood in simple letters, was a single sentence: 

_We Mend What Has Been Broken_

She caught sight of him across the hall, watching her with quiet eyes, considering. And she thought of the gift he had given her. He was almost the only one, all considering. Velanna was Dalish, and Oghren a dwarf, neither of them really aware of the customs. Anders had given her a warm scarf he claimed to have knitted himself. She was not entirely sure she believed him. Most of the others had not had the money or the opportunity to prepare anything. Only Nathaniel. 

A small locket, within painted portraits of Eleanor and Bryce Cousland, and engraved in the silver on the back where it lay against her skin a single sentence:

_We Remember What It Cost_

Maker, the two of them…among the nobility, gifts had always been more than gifts. They were symbols, representations of what stood between two people. They were something to cherish or warnings to take as advice. They stood for everything between two people. With those two gifts, they had somehow crossed the line from conflicted and wary individuals basing everything on wrongs done between them and a difficult history…to friends. To something. 

She crossed to him, and he met her in the center of the hall, considering her gown.

“My Lady,” he greeted softly, and she gave him a curtsy in return. 

“Nathaniel,” she murmured, and he gave her the slightest of smiles. “Will you prepare the others to ride out for the city? I need to make a social call.” He nodded and then glanced to the others. She caught his gaze lingering a moment on Anders, the slightest smile Anders gave him back, and wondered for a moment.

And then she swept across the hall, cloak about her shoulders, and stepped out into the crisp snows.

She made her way across the courtyard, wishing everyone the best as they made their preparations for their own party that evening. She had turned over the keep to Seneschal Varel for the festivities, letting him handle all those that would be dining at her expense, since she would be away. She smiled at the joy in their eyes, some of them in new clothes – perhaps the first new ones they had had since before the Blight – and all carrying gifts and celebrating. 

Her destination was the tavern. Within, she was directed by Mistress Woolsey’s temporary innkeeper up the steps towards the back rooms. The stairs creaked, and the place needed some care, but it was slowly getting built into something nice, and she was glad of it. The common room itself had been a bit wild with riotous laughter and felicitation. It warmed her heart to see it here. It had never been so bustling before.

She found Felsi in her chambers, quietly considering a small satchel of her belongings, all she had brought. Eideann paused at the door, which stood open, until Felsi glanced back.

“Oh, it’s you.” She pushed herself up from the edge of the bed where she was sitting to rise, thinking perhaps to make a bow or some such, but Eideann stopped her. “What can I do for you, Your Majesty?”

“I wanted to let you know, because I think you should know it, and perhaps no one will tell you, that I will be taking the Grey Wardens to the City of Amaranthine, and none of us will be at the feast this evening. In fact, we will not return until the morrow. I…wanted you to know that you could attend the feast if you wished to, without…”

“Without running into that bronto-humper,” Felsi finished abruptly. Her gaze was cold. “Thank you.” 

“I…was wondering what you had planned?” Eideann asked quietly. Felsi fidgeted nervously.

“My…my mother died,” she said softly. “During the Blight. The darkspawn at Redcliffe.” She gave a sigh. “I thought maybe Oghren would come back. I should have known better. I’m not…sure…what I’ll do now.” 

“Whatever you decide,” Eideann said carefully, “I want you to know that you will always have a place at Amaranthine.” Felsi just gave a small smirk, shaking her head.

“With him here?” she asked skeptically. “Last thing I need.”

“Things change, times change. That is all I meant,” Eideann said softly. Felsi gave her a small smile.

“It’s not your problem to fix, Warden,” she said quietly, “but thank you for the thought. I…I will go to your feast.”

“We will be gone in the hour,” Eideann said softly. “When you go, seek out Seneschal Varel, the man who brought you here to the inn. He will want to know you are alright.” Felsi gave a quiet nod, and so Eideann drew a breath, then left her to it, because she was right. It was not her problem to fix. Felsi wanted and needed to make those decisions herself. 

In the stableyard, her Grey Wardens were waiting, clad in festive golds and scarlets and greens. Eideann pulled her hood up and then pulled herself up onto her horse with more grace than she had thought she could manage given her attire. And then she glanced back to the few servants coming with them, and the steeds that were loaded with gifts.

“That Brandy is for me, right?” Oghren grinned at her, eyeing up the case she had ordered.. She gave him a flat look.

“No. It is for Bann Esmerelle,” she replied curtly.

“The woman who wants to kill us?” Anders asked with an amused look. “I doubt a present will change her mind.”

“We’re giving her quality brandy so that we know exactly what is safe to drink,” Eideann replied. Behind her, Zevran was mounted on an Antivan charger, nudging it into the snows. 

“Stay alert,” he told her quietly. She nodded, thinking of Duncan’s dagger tucked into her belt. Nathaniel drew his own mount alongside her.

“Do we know yet how she will try?” he asked. Eideann sighed.

“Crow assassins, or some machinations of her own,” she answered, because it was all she knew. “Keep your guard up, my friend. It will happen today.” But then she gave him a bright smile. “Regardless the day is young, and the festivities have yet to begin! And we are spending the day in the City itself, not in the clutches of scheming Banns.” She grinned. “I bought Delilah a few things for her child. Do you think she’ll like them?” Nathaniel gave her a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“Yes,” he assured her, then pulled up his hood and nudged his horse forward. “Shall we, Cousland?”

“Lead on, Nate.”

And they rode out into the crystal white fields of the Coastlands.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES:
> 
> Verbanchel is the Antivan Crow prison where they keep prisoners to torture. I presume Zevran might end up there if he got caught now. 
> 
> Bryce Cousland was in fact raised in South Reach with Leonas Bryland (and presumably Eliane Bryland) so some of his philosophies no doubt are shared across the Cousland upbringing and the South Reach childhood. I like to imagine Eliane Bryland conveyed some of that to her children. It is not true that Bryce kept Howe close because of Leonas Bryland. We really don't know why he did, though they were all war buddies and such, and Bryce was the Teyrn, but I imagine that Leonas and Bryce had an interesting and brotherly sort of relationship, and that this conversation they had would potentially be conceivable in that context.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grey Wardens attend Satinalia celebrations in the City of Amaranthine; Eideann finally deals with Bann Esmerelle, regardless of the cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: none
> 
> Comments always welcome. :)

Spending Satinalia with the Howes was…odd in retrospect. She liked the sort of message it sent, and she was glad that Delilah and Albert and Nathaniel had all been willing to spend that time with her. If she was going to live in the present, she could not dwell on the past. 

Delilah loved her gifts, every single one: the small wooden horse and chariot, the knitted bear Nathaniel had brought from somewhere in the house like it had once belonged to him – she was almost certain it did – and the stash of garments for quickly growing children that would take the financial burden from a merchant and his wife for a little while. 

They spent most of the evening out on the streets, where the King of Fools had been crowned and was making his way about the squares, juggling and giving orders. Being Queen, she already knew she was going to end up the target of a number of jokes, but she played along, all in good fun, determined to put a good face on it. It led to her pulling in a woman’s laundry while she watched, and helping to feed an orphanage of children with greasy lamb.

Her Wardens threw themselves into it with a fervor, even Velanna, who was hesitant until she saw that many of the orphans were elven children, and she was determined they learn their real stories. Eideann just laughed and let her, wondering a moment about Keeper Ilshae and her clan. 

Maker, after the Battle of Denerim a few short months ago, the world seemed too bright and happy, and the darkspawn a long way off. She hoped that assassins would be the least of her worries in the years to come.

In response to seeing her, some of the nobility even joined in that day. A troop of minstrels put on a puppet show of the Archdemon fight, and Eideann laughed as they poked fun of her and Alistair both. Let them. She was not so insecure she could not allow them to take joy in that moment. She had not paid the price she had so that everyone could be solemn in the aftermath. 

The streets were full of music and dancing. Someone got to singing I Am The One – she later learned it was all Anders’ fault for getting them going. And then a quick jig meant half the street was dancing the Remigold before they knew what hit them. 

And then at last the sun was sinking into the horizon and the air had taken on a chill. Eideann and her company took their leave of Delilah Howe and her new husband, bade farewell to those on the streets who were still left and had not fled inside to warm fires and feasts, and made their way up the terraces towards the Mansion of the Bann of Amaranthine. 

The way was lined with lantern light. Some of the nobility were already gathered, and soft music – nothing like the revels of the street – was floating airily through the windows. The scents of roasting ham and fowl was hanging in the air, spices and extravagance. Eideann climbed the steps to the open doors and was greeted by a more formal set of servants, who made their bows and curtsies and ushered her inside with an announcement that the Warden-Commander of Ferelden and the Grey Wardens had arrived.

The Bann of Amaranthine’s estate held all the extravagance one might expect of a location entirely paid for in Orlesian coin over the years of the Occupation. The Orlesian presence in Amaranthine had made it the massive port city it was and led to the Bann of the City of Amaranthine becoming the most wealthy noble in Ferelden. Bann Esmerelle meant to make sure everyone knew it as well. 

Eideann tied the ribbons of her mask in place, Orlesian style, all of them matching in silver griffon representations. She was not going to play politics there today. She was the Warden-Commander. Her coronet was proof enough she was Queen as well. 

The Bann herself greeted them as they crossed the carpets to the ballroom where the musicians had already struck up one of the newest dances Eideann did not know from a year living in a tent. The woman was hidden behind a mask of black onyx and rubies, but her terse lips were pressed together in a thin smile, and she greeted Eideann with all the charm of a viper. Eideann replied in kind, a smile that did not touch her eyes. She presented her gift, the cask of brandy, and then accepted a glass which she took with her to make the rounds of the nobility.

Her first stop was Lord Eddlebrek, who appeared as pleased as she felt to be there. He gave her a deep bow, kissing her hand in greeting and calling her Queen Eideann. She simply remembered he had known her as a child and gave him a warm smile and thanked him for the horses she had sent to Fergus. As he launched into a tale about another of his horses, she was only half listening. Nathaniel was making his own rounds of the room, and she was watching him from the corner of her eye as he mingled, rebuffing attempts to pander to him with the expert hand of courtly-trained manners. 

She had no fear for him interacting with a room full of treasonous bastards looking to put him back on the Arl’s seat at any cost. He had made his loyalties clear, as well as his duty, and she knew better than to think he would go back on the second, even if the first might be swayed. 

Nathaniel, though, did not like oversimplifications. There was no benefit to unseating a Queen confirmed by the Landsmeet itself. And there was no benefit to flinging Amaranthine into a multi-faceted war with darkspawn and nobility. And he had come to call her friend. And she realized with a small smile that she knew him as friend as well.

Lord Eddlebrek gave her a small smile and bade farewell with another small bow, moving along. That done, Eideann found the person she had wanted to speak to since Zevran had arrived back at the Vigil that morning: Ser Derran.

He was clad in a simply domino mask, nothing extravagant, his clothes leather and furs as before, though he had a red silk sash and wore a sprig of holly pinned to the front of his tunic. As he saw her, he gave a bow, but his eyes were wary. She drew alongside him, interrupting the conversation he was having with a few other nobles, and offered him her arm.

“Walk with me, if you would, Ser Derran.” 

He could not exactly say no, so he took her arm carefully and walked with her as they did a circuit of the chamber. Eideann caught Bann Esmerelle watching them in the corner of her eye and smiled slightly.

“I hope you will pardon the intrusion, but there is something of yours that needs to be returned immediately, and I have a gift for you as well.” She led him across the floor towards where Zevran stood holding the last of the gifts she had brought, both written just that morning and tied with red ribbon. She took them both, breaking from Ser Derran’s arm and turning to face him, skirts twirling about her ankles. 

“Majesty, I desire no gifts…the honor is too much,” he demurred, but she shook her head.

“The first is this, and rightly yours.” She held forth the first scroll, thinner ribbon, and he took it warily before unfurling it. He skimmed the words, then looked up sharply.

“This is…I thought you had to honor the arrangement with Lady Liza,” he said sharply. Eideann gave him a simple look.

“Lady Liza will not be missing them. She was plotting to murder me this morning.” The man gave a soft curse, letting the paper roll up again and shaking his head.

“Majesty, I…” She took the second scroll and quieted him with a gentle look.

“You have been an honored supporter, Ser Derran, even when it cost you much to be. I would see that recognized, as you deserve, in repayment for the costs you have paid.” She held forth the scroll. “As Arlessa of Amaranthine, I bestow upon you the lands of Teyrn’s Down which neighbor your own ancestral holdings.” He froze, staring, and she saw tears in his eyes. And then he carefully took the second scroll. 

“Your Majesty…it is too much. I merely stood for what was right.” She smiled.

“Would that more people would, Ser Derran,” she said softly. He stood, holding the land rights in his hands, and she gave him a small bow of head. “You will earn the loyalty of those on those properties with your goodness and your determination to do what is right. I would have no one else hold those lands save you.” He blinked back the tears and then gave a low bow.

“Your Majesty. You shall not regret this choice.” She shook her head.

“I know,” she told him quietly, and he departed her company.

“That may yet cause trouble for you, _bella_ ,” Zevran warned her quietly, and Eideann drew a breath, considering his words, then closing her eyes a moment.

“Perhaps,” she admitted, “but I make my decisions and live with the consequences. It is the only way to get by.” She glanced to him, and he gave her a knowing look before nodding behind her. When she looked back, Nathaniel was crossing to join them, wearing a doublet of red silk and velvet, his cloak fastened over one shoulder. He gave her an amused look.

“Stop making the nobility cry, Cousland. They all come with complaints to me.” She grinned and gave a soft laugh, which carried farther than she had meant. He did not care that a few of the others were considering them now, confused as to what their being so close really meant. Instead, he dared them to consider it, by offering her his hand. “Would you care to dance, Cousland?” 

“You are the only one that gets away with calling me that, you know,” she smiled, but her hand crept into his and he led her towards the dance floor where the Minstrels were playing another tune she recognized. “Don’t make a fool of me,” she told him. “The only dancing I’ve done this past year has been that dance of blades in the darkness.” He nodded, a smirk on his face, and then led her into the center of the floor, twirling her into position with an expert sort of grace that came from years of his own training. He had been in Kirkwall and the Free Marches. He knew the dances, better than she, so she decided to trust him not to make her a fool there and then. 

And he did not.

At first there was a tension as people saw what they meant to do. Some were watching with interest. Bann Esmerelle had a sick little smile like she was trying to decide if she should kill herself with poison or a knife. Eideann felt a little satisfaction at that. This had, after all, been Nathaniel’s idea.

“Nate, everyone’s watching,” she said as he took a respectful hold on her. His grey gaze flashed, and he gave her a slight smile.

“I know. Do you mind?” 

“Have I ever?” she asked with a small laugh, and then he began to move. 

He knew how to guide, how to lead, and for once it was nice someone else was, even if only on a dance floor. And bit by bit they earned the attention of most of the ballroom. Those that were not dancing as well were quickly murmuring to one another whatever they thought was going on. Eideann ignored them for the moment, glad the dance gave her enough of a respectable distance to avoid too many rumors of illicit affairs. The last thing she needed was to deal with the backlash of that sort of thing. 

Nathaniel watched her with amused eyes like he knew every single thought she was having, and he spun her out, skirts billowing, red velvet and gold silk. When he drew her back, he was grinning.

“You’re enjoying this. Doesn’t your Prince know how to Dance?” 

“I honestly have no idea,” she admitted. “I’ve never asked and we’ve never tried.” Nathaniel seemed a little taken aback at that. He recovered after a moment. 

“Well, I suppose your wedding is as good a time as any to start. If he needs lessons, you send him to me, Cousland. We’ll see it’s done properly.” 

“Between the two of us, it’s amazing that there are things in the world that are still done improperly,” she chuckled as they whirled across the floor. She had missed dancing. When it was something that happened more often, she had not cared much for it, but now, here…there was something of the old life she had once had in it, something of the old Eideann who had danced too often in Highever to like it then. Nathaniel seemed to recognize that too, because his teasing smile had faded to one of genuine kindness. 

“You don’t have to carry the weight alone,” he told her as he drew her back from another spin. “There are people as fierce and determined as you that can make sure the world is put to rights.” She just smiled a little sadly.

“It cost me too much to reach this point to let it slip away now,” she told him quietly, “and there are still so many things left to do, I don’t know that I will ever rest.” He caught her in both his arms and the music tapered off.

“You will,” he told her with a small and sincere nod. “When you return to him, you’ll get your chance to rest.” She gave a soft laugh as a few of the nobles clapped their dance, shaking her head.

“You don’t know me very well,” she teased, and then backed away, sliding from his arms with dignity. “Thank you though, for this. For all of it.” He nodded and gave her a bow, courtly, one arm at his back, the other across his middrift. 

“Your Majesty,” he said, loud enough for others to hear and recognize the dynamic that lay between them and to know he was done with their little games of rebellion.

Eideann drew across the floor towards a few chairs, and she saw Zevran moving out of the corner of her eye, keeping watch. Bann Esmerelle came to join her, a false smile plastered on her face.

“I was unaware that you were familiar with the latest dances, Commander,” she said, using that title because it was easier to hate than Queen. Eideann, for her turn, simply smiled slightly.

“A good dance partner makes it look easy,” she said simply, neither confirming nor denying her own skills. “Regardless there is a sort of intrigue to dancing, is there not. So many daggers in the darkness, so many words that could kill. Life is a dance, Bann Esmerelle. If you cannot dance well, you don’t last long.” She liberated a snifter of brandy from a nearby tray and took a careful sip of it. 

And then she paused. 

Her gaze fell on Bann Esmerelle who was watching her with a quiet smile, a real one this time, something dark in her eyes.

“Oh, Bann Esmerelle, you should know better,” Eideann said quietly. She could feel the burning on her tongue, in her throat, starting to feel like fire. But she had managed to keep down darkspawn blood mixed with liquid lyrium and Archdemon’s blood. She was not going down with Bann Esmerelle’s poison. Instead, she carefully shifted in her seat, and set down the brandy. She wet her lips carefully, and they tingled too from the poison. She felt her insides churn and lowered her chin a little, determined not to make a scene of it. If she was going to die, she would do it quietly just to spite the woman.

“Should I?” Esmerelle said quietly, settling back in her chair and drinking her own unpoisoned brandy. 

“And what if it had not been I to take that particular glass?” Eideann asked quietly. “How many would you see dead for just one assassination?” 

“All of them,” Bann Esmerelle said simply. “But the brandy was only ever meant for you. And it would only reach your hand. You knew already about my plots. Your Crow warned you, did he not? The blood of Lady Liza and Lord Guy is on your hands, and I mean to have vengeance for it.” Eideann shook her head with a small smile.

“Come now, this is not about Lady Liza or Lord Guy,” she replied quietly. “You and I both know this is entirely about you, Bann Esmerelle.” Bann Esmerelle’s smile slipped, and her gaze flickered to the poisoned brandy sitting between them. She had presumed a sip would be enough, apparently. Eideann still was not sure it was not. She could feel it settling like a gnawing pit of fire in her stomach, but she continued to sit as straight as she can, though the pain of it was rising.

“Rendon was good to us. Good to _me_ ,” she finally replied, her voice like venom.

“Of course,” Eideann said quietly. “Someone had to profit from all the lives he was ruining aside from himself.” She could feel sweat at her brow and was glad it was hidden by her mask. Bann Esmerelle gave a wild laugh.

“Mock me if you will. You’re a child, worthless, seizing power where it was not yours to have. And now you are nothing, and you will die. Where will all your grace and dignity be then? You’ll be in agony before it is done.”

“Or,” came the soft Antivan voice as Zevran emerged as if from nowhere, suddenly there, hovering over them, calm and collected, “you will.” Bann Esmerelle started, staring up at him. Eideann’s hands found Duncan’s knife at her waist and she gritted her teeth against the pain of the poison within her stomach.

“You thought to end me with Crows, Bann Esmerelle, but as you say, I have one of my own.” She carefully shifted, knowing it could make the poison worse, and glanced to the Bann who was glaring at her now. “If you make a single wrong move, either myself or my loyal friend here will have your head. In the meantime, you may humor me.” Her Cousland blues flickered to Zevran, who gave a small nod. “How long have you been involved in the smuggling operations along the coast?”

“I hardly need to involve myself with such things.”

“Oh certainly, but you did. In fact,” she had raised her voice now, so others might overhear, “I am entirely certain this entire party is paid for by the funds of the desperate in the slums of your own city. After all, Bann Esmerelle, there is profit to be had in smuggler friends. And some of those we caught were such very good friends with you.”

“Preposterous!” Bann Esmerelle said, aware others were watching. “I would never stoop so low. That you even know of it implies you yourself were involved. Your own mother was a pirate. Everyone knows that much.” She rose, bristling, but Eideann did not respond. Instead she simply folded her hands in her lap, trying to ignore the burning pain that had flooded through her now. She needed help. Soon. “You have murdered Ser Timothy, Lady Liza, and Lord Guy. You have sullied your office. And I will not have it! Not anymore!” 

“Good,” Eideann said softly. “Because I am about finished with you as well, Bann Esmerelle.” She gritted her teeth. “Lord Guy was killed during an illicit meeting to plan the assassination of the Queen of Ferelden with Lady Liza in a dockside tavern. The innkeeper and the patrons can attest to the plot, and will also bear witness that the one with the coin to pay for assassins of the Antivan Crows’ caliber was none other than yourself. You have been stashing money away for months, since the Blight, biding your time, Bann Esmerelle. You funded those assassins with money you made assisting the smugglers, who had a monopoly on the city until recently when my associates and I with the help of the city guard hunted down the last in the caverns below Amaranthine. You have plotted treason and broken your oath to serve the Arling of Amaranthine, and you have stolen from your own people to see it done. And to what end? What did you earn in the end?” Eideann shook her head. “If you succeeded, what did you expect would happen?” Everyone was watching now. “Did you think King Alistair would let that go unanswered? Do you think the Bannorn would not raze Amaranthine to the ground? Do you think the Teyrn of Highever would not march on the city itself and see your head on the gates.”

“Do you not think the Howes would have you pay for the crimes first?” came the quiet voice of Nathaniel from nearby. Bann Esmerelle’s gaze flickered dangerously and she glanced about, raising her chin. 

“Did you think that the world would be put to rights again because I was dead, Bann Esmerelle? If I thought the world would be mended with my death, I would pay that price myself willingly. But there is no way to go back, only forward.” Eideann forced herself to rise, feeling the burning race through her, and she almost staggered. Instead she kept her feet, determined to finish this without an instant of weakness. “Bann Esmerelle of the City of Amaranthine,” she said quietly, but her voice carried regardless. “You are guilty of treason against the crown, the penalty for which is death. I gave you a chance to work for the good of all, but you would rather kill a Queen than help your City.” The Bann sneered.

And then she spat at her feet, eyes full of hate.

“Rendon Howe was the best thing that ever happened to Amaranthine!” she cried. “When your father murdered the old Teryn for trying to help his people, Rendon did what he had to do to survive! He made us great again! He gave us a chance! And he made Amaranthine rise! You…you have brought us so low we will never rise again! Darkspawn flood our valleys, chased northward by your troops! And then you come here, to your enemy’s house, and you conscript his son and heir! You make us swear our vows of fealty! You seize control of the region! And you think you have every right to it! Enough! You will die, Eideann Cousland, like your father died, like your mother died, in agony, choking on your own blood! And it will still be too good for the likes of you!” 

She turned, but Nathaniel was in her way, eyes cold like flint or ice. He slit her throat with his knife, and Bann Esmerelle dropped to the flagstones to the collective gasp of the audience. And then Nathaniel considered them all.

“Does anyone else feel like defending that bastard of a man who called himself an Arl?” he spat. Eideann finally had to reach for the chair, hunching over a little. “No?!” The nobility did not answer. Nathaniel had the situation controlled. Eideann could not do it. Not then. Not there. Nathaniel’s gaze fell on her.

“Anders, help the Queen,” he ordered sharply, and Eideann felt the arms of the mage come around her, pulling her carefully away. The nobility moved quickly to clear a path. Nathaniel sheathed his knife. “Anyone else who plots treason against the crown of Ferelden will answer to me! I will tell you the truth of who my father truly was.” Eideann’s vision blurred, and she almost fell but Anders’ strong arms kept her upright as he led her into a corridor.

The first chamber was a library with a chaise lounge before a roaring fire. The door shut and Eideann was lowered – or rather, half collapsed – onto the chaise with a sharp cry of pain.

“It is potent,” Zevran’s voice said, and she heard the clink as he set the snifter of brandy on the table beside her. “You only had a sip, _bella_?” 

“I don’t think it much matters,” she gapsed with effort, squeezing her eyes shut. “Maker, it’s like fire…”

“Sit still.” Anders voice was sharp and cold and cut through her like a knife. She tried. She could not. Zevran pressed her down into the chaise lounge by the shoulders, pinning her there so she could not move, could not agitate it more. She did not even think to fight back. Instead she cried out. 

“Zevran, what is it?” Anders snapped, summoning spirits of compassion from beyond the Veil, his face a twist of anger. Eideann caught his hand, squeezing it painfully tight, and he held it as his other one worked. “Dammit, man, what did they use?!” 

“Crow poison,” she heard Zevran say through the haze. 

“Oh fuck…” she gasped. Zevran caught her other hand.

“Wyvern venom and deathroot,” he continued, speaking to Anders. “I have no antidote with me.” 

“Maker take the bastards!” Anders spat, breaking contact with her and turning his back to think, pacing quickly across the floor. “Zevran…Zevran, I need…I need Andraste’s Mantle, Drakevein, Winterberry, and an infusion of elfroot. Find someone who can get those. There must be some in the house. Or the City if need be. But be quick, man, dammit!” Zevran glanced to Eideann who shuddered and gave a sharp cry.

“For the Maker’s sake, Zevran, please, go.” So he did, taking off running. She felt another shudder go through her, a shot of fire, like her insides were burning, and felt tears at the corner of her eyes. “Anders…”

His hand found her again, and blue light hovered over them a moment. It soothed a little, but it was not enough. The poison was within her.

“Why did you drink it? Maker help us. You knew she was planning something.” 

“I didn’t…I just…Dammit, I’m allowed to fuck up too,” she said. “And I’ve drunk worse.” He smirked at that, half amused and half angry with her. 

“Yes, and that too is poisoning you, remember?” he reminded her, sinking to his knees beside the chaise lounge and shaking his head at her. “Do you have a deathwish you aren’t telling me about?” She laughed, but that hurt, so it turned into whimpers. She pushed the tears back, determined not to cry, but they just slipped out the corner of her eyes. Maker, she felt like she was melting. 

“Anders…Anders if…if I don’t – ” He silenced her.

“No.” She looked to him, and he shook his head. “I am not going to let you die. And I already told you I’m not going to Denerim to tell the King that a mage let his Queen, the Hero of Ferelden die of poison.” He gave her a desperate look. “No, you’re staying with me. You hear me? I will not let you die. Zevran will find the – ”

“Warden,” her voice was curt and short and full of pain. “Shut up. Listen.” He did. “If I end up dead, I need you to get to the College of Enchanters in Cumberland. Send Oghren to the Deep Roads to meet with the Legonnaires king Bhelen is sending. And for the Maker’s sake, do whatever Nate says politically. He must tell Alistair. And Fergus. I can’t…there can’t be a war…” 

“Commander, with all due respect, shut up.” She smiled against the pain, squeezing her eyes shut again, and he sank down to a seat, gripping her hand. “I thought…I really thought you’d turn me over to the Templars, you know,” he told her quietly. “You’re not the person I thought you were. You’ve…proven to me that there are people, non-mages, who care, and…I won’t let my legacy for you be your death, Eideann.” He bowed his head a little, fingers curled about her own. “I won’t. You’re going to die of a ripe old age of the darkspawn taint, see if you don’t.” She shook her head. “That…that book you gave me…I found something. I found where they keep the phylacteries of mages who have passed their Harrowings. They moved them after a mage broke into the Phylactery Chamber and shattered his before escaping. Mine…mine should be there.”

“Where?” she asked, focusing on that, determined.

“Here. Amaranthine. They keep them here. Close enough to Denerim in case they needed them, but not in Denerim to avoid being obvious.” 

“Maker’s breath,” she gasped, opening her eyes. She ignored the fire. Let it burn inside. She was the Blue Flame still, was she not? Burning from the inside out was probably poetic. She felt another tear roll out, but she thought instead of Anders. “Where?” she asked again.

“The Chantry.” She nodded. He glanced back, and his eyes were sharp.

“You told me if I wanted to go, I could…but so long as the Templars have that sample of my blood, they can find me,” he said, turning and rising up on his knees again, weaving more spells against the pain. There was sweat on his brow from the effort.

“You want to find it,” she gasped, feeling the wash of cool relief over the burn. It was not enough, but it was a momentary mercy. Maker, where was Zevran…? Was she really going to die?

_No. Don’t think on it. He’s telling you this to distract you. Focus on that…_

“What is to stop the Chantry from deciding mages in the Grey Wardens are apostates too?” he said quietly, watching her with a worn gaze. She was about to reply, struggling to think on the words, her vision floating in an out of sharpness, when the door burst open.

“ _Mythal’enaste!_ ” She almost smiled at that. “Why did I not learn Keeper Ilshae’s Vir’Atashan!?” 

“Velanna,” she murmured, shaping the word with effort. The Dalish elf crossed to her, Zevran at her side. 

“Foolish shemlen!” she spat angrily. “If you had wanted to kill yourself you should have let me do it back in the woods and saved you this trouble!” She bent over her a moment, shoving in alongside Anders who gave her a glare in return. Her hands found Eideann’s wrist, checking the pulse in her veins, then swept her heated forehead with the back of her hand. And then she tossed aside her red mantle and reached for the pouch of herbs at her side, grimacing. “It is almost a waste, but if you die, who will help me find Shianni?” she grumbled, pulling out a few and sorting through them quickly. Anders took them as she held them out. “Elfroot, Drakevein, Winterbreath Berries, and Royal Elfroot. That is all I have, use them well, and don’t make me regret letting you do this.” Anders gave her a flat look, then turned to crush them together, pulling his own equipment from his own pouch at his waist. Did all mages carry such equipment for emergencies? It all seemed oddly convenient.

And then the shot of fire raced through her again and she forgot all else.

“Urthemiel could not kill me. You will not have me,” she spat through the pain to no one in particular. 

“ _Bella_ ,” she heard, and her hands crept into Zevran’s as he took Anders’ place at her side. 

And then suddenly Anders was back, and a small mortar was being set to her lips. Cool liquid coaxed her mouth open, and it flooded down her throat, soothing the burning as it slipped down. She felt it run its course, felt it combat the burn inside her. Bit by bit her insides began to calm.

And the elfroot took control then, soothing her into a haze. She blinked, and then she settled back, and her mind blanked. And then she slipped into sleep.

***

“Andraste’s Mantle? It’s Royal Elfroot, shemlen. It existed long before your Andraste. It is not hers.” Velanna slumped into a seat, crossing her arms. “That entire display was madness.” 

Anders shook his head, wiping clean his mortar and pestle and gazing into the flames of the flickering fireplace in the center of the library. He was too worn by the entire thing to pick fights with her now. She did it because she had no other idea how to be friendly with people. But he knew under it all Velanna had been as worried as he. 

“Well, it was certainly an exciting evening,” Zevran, the assassin, said with a small smirk, but it was halfhearted, and he was looking to the Queen who lay prone on the chaise lounge with concern in his eyes he could not hide. “With the Bann dead, and the contract failed, the Crows will not come again for her unless another strikes a contract. I doubt they will.” He shook his head. “At least, not until it is in their interest again to try.” 

“Do you think Bann Esmerelle was the source?” Anders asked quietly, considering the elf who was standing with his arms crossed over the chaise lounge like he was on guard. 

“Certainly. If not her, then a political rival that might benefit from the death of the Queen of Ferelden, and this was merely a channel.”

“Orlesians?” Anders offered quietly. The Crow shook his head.

“No, my friend. The Orlesians would send their bards, or contract the House of Repose. The Antivan Crows…a different sort of target.” He sighed and let his arms drop, resting his fingers instead on the arm of the chaise lounge behind Eideann’s head. “I do not want to be the one to tell King Alistair that his wife was drinking poison.” 

“Who is this man? He sounds completely ineffective. If he was truly her husband, he would be here. Shemlen nobility are like flies on halla shit. They swarm.” Zevran laughed at that. Anders just glanced to Velanna, who still appeared to be sulking, and then sighed.

The door opened and Nathaniel entered with Oghren at his heels. The dwarf’s eyes were glassy from drink, but he came to join the elf with a grim stare.

“The damn woman knew,” he spat coldly. “She drank the damn stuff, and she knew.” 

“Of course,” Zevran said simply. “When has our beautiful and fearless leader ever not done ridiculous things to meet her ends.”

“I have placated the nobles for now,” Nathaniel said quietly. “Will she be alright?”

“Eventually,” Anders replied softly. “We delivered an antidote in time. But when she does wake up, you shall be the one to inform her that I can’t handle her doing any more stupid things.” He grimaced, and went back to his cleaning by the fire. Nathaniel shifted, then crossed the room to Eideann’s side, looking her over a moment before drawing a deep breath. 

Velanna was staring at them all now, eyes like ice. Nathaniel glanced back and caught her looking, then tipped his head a little.

“Your glares suggest that you do not care for our presence,” he said softly. The Dalish woman grimaced, then rose abruptly from her seat.

“I am simply wondering how your kind can call yourselves ‘nobles’ when all you do is backstab one another and seize power for yourselves.” Nathaniel met her gaze a moment, and Anders watched the thoughts form behind his grey eyes. 

“We like irony,” Nathaniel finally said. “And it rolls off the tongue better than ‘oppressors’.” Velanna sniffed.

“Ah, so you’re a funny human.”

“Not I,” Nathaniel replied, glancing back to Eideann. “I would not dare lighten the mood now, my lady. It would be better to sulk about until she wakes up and finds us sitting in a room completely useless. I am sure it would set her mind at ease to know we are ineffective without leadership.”

“Yes, well who should be making decisions then?” Oghren snapped. “You? Poncy boy?” 

“Well, we could always let the drunk take charge,” Anders replied. 

There was a soft noise of the door closing again and they all looked up to see Keenan there, his dog Lucan at his side. The man grimaced. 

“I see we’ve quickly turned to infighting,” he said after a moment. “Will Commander Cousland be alright?” His eyes were on Anders again. The mage gave a nod, then tucked away the last of his equipment. “Good,” Keenan said simply, nodding. “In that case, there are things that must be done.” He glanced to Zevran. “If we are certain that this Bann Esmerelle was the source of these plots, I want to know if she has any more conspirators. These…Antivan Crows. They are the source of the poison, yes? Can you hunt them down?”

“Gladly,” Zevran replied, then gave a bow of head and swept out.

“You go with him,” Keenan said, looking to Velanna. “He may need support, and you’re handy in a fight, not to mention elves often have the chance to move unnoticed where others could not.” Velanna pursed her lips, but she eventually stalked out after Zevran, sniffing haughtily at the insult of being sent off to tidy up. Keenan looked next to Oghren.

“You’re going to be on watch here, outside the door. I don’t trust the guards, even with Bann Esmerelle dead, and I don’t want anyone who is not one of us entering this chamber.” 

“I’m nobody’s nursemaid,” Oghren snapped. Keenan gave him a quiet look.

“No, but you are a warrior of Orzammar, my friend, if I remember correctly. You are a bulwark, a defender. And you are not use to anyone standing inside this room.” The dwarf considered a moment, and then went. Keenan considered Nathaniel and Anders a moment then. “Anders, keep watch on her. Nathaniel, I need you to handle the political situation. I’m going to follow up on some leads with the nobility now, see if we can work out who knew this was coming today, and where their allegiances lie.”

“And they will speak with you?” Nathaniel asked quietly. “It is obvious you’re a Warden, Keenan.”

“But I am not nearly the polarizing force you or Eideann appear to be, and I was a guard in Gwaren once, employed by Teryn Loghain. I know how to use that to my advantage. I played the game a little in Orlais you know.” He gave a friendly smile. “Wait here awhile. Give the nobility time to settle. And then we shall see what comes. Give me some time.” He gave Anders a nod then, and then turned back to the door. 

And that left Anders alone with Nathaniel and the sleeping Eideann. The mage pushed himself up from his seat by the fireplace and shook his head.

“Maker, what a bloody mess. Can’t she do anything that isn’t extreme?” he asked curtly. Nathaniel just shook his head, crossing his arms and leaning against the opposite side of the hearth, gazing across the flames to Anders. 

“If she was capable of moderation, I think the Archdemon would still be alive.” 

“She said it was Urthemiel. Did the researchers find out?” Anders asked, wondering.

“Not that I have heard,” Nathaniel replied, glancing back to the Queen. “Perhaps it is something only she knows.”

“There’s a lot only she knows and I don’t like it.” He stared dourly a moment, and then he sighed, letting it go, letting it pass. “Do you think the conspiracy will end now?”

“Conspiracies never end, Anders,” Nathaniel said quietly, looking back to him with piercing eyes. “Someone is always planning something somewhere.” 

“I thought you didn’t like oversimplifications?” Anders said quietly. Nathaniel considered him a moment, then carefully pushed up from the hearth and closed the distance between them. Anders blinked, watching, as the man drew close. And then he felt his back hit something, the bookcase beside the hearth, and a few books toppled from the shelf, knocked free. Nathaniel ignored it, one hand bracing against the bookshelf frame, the other slowly entwining in Anders’ fingers.

“Sometimes,” he said in a husky voice, considering Anders with eyes like steel, “simplicity can be more appealing.” 

“I’m not simple,” Anders murmured, aware that Nathaniel’s mouth was so close to his own he could feel the other man’s breathing. 

“No,” Nate whispered. “But what I feel for you is.” And then their lips met, gentle at first, then rougher, more desperate. Anders’ fingers closed on Nathaniel’s tightly, and his other hand came up to curl into Nathaniel’s long hair, pulling him closer in. He felt Nathaniel’s thigh pressing at his own and closed his eyes a moment.

“Maker…” he breathed, and Nathaniel gave a soft chuckle.

“Not quite,” he heard in a low purr as Nathaniel’s mouth skimmed the shell of his ear, his jawline.

And then he sighed and drew back, and Anders was left feeling a little weak-kneed, watching him, quivering, lips parted.

“What’s wrong?” he asked after a moment. Nathaniel just shook his head, gazing into the flames. 

“Nothing is wrong. But you’re used to getting exactly what you want exactly when you want it, Anders,” he said, giving a coy little smile at the corner of his mouth and then crossing to the nearby table where a decanter of wine sat waiting for whoever might want a drink. Anders watched the man pour himself a glass, then carefully pulled back from the bookcase, his chest rising and falling a little. “I intend,” Nathaniel said, passing the man the glass of wine and then pouring another for himself, “to teach you patience.” There was a sly look in his piercing gaze now. “It’s just that simple.” 

And Anders could not help but laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES ON POISONS AND ANTIDOTES:
> 
> Crow's Poison (DA:O recipe) involved 2 parts toxin extract/venom, 2 parts deathroot distilled in a flask. It's a liquid, and the more toxin added or the stronger the toxin, the stronger the poison would be. A sip would probably be enough. 
> 
> Given the fact that wyvern venom is considered incredibly poisonous, this would make a potent brew. It is also apparently extremely painful to deal with. It does, however, have a cure of not-rare ingredients, so those that are poisoned with wyvern venom can be saved if they moved quickly enough. Otherwise they were in for a slow painful death. 
> 
> Wyvern venom is cured with 1 part Andraste's Mantle, 1 part Drakevein, and 1 part Winterberry. In Amaranthine, Winterberry seems like it would be easier to get your hands on. Drakevein appears to be some sort of fungus or mushroom, so also foreseeable that it could be found. Andraste's Mantle actually just recycles the elfroot models in DAII, so I went with the idea it is actually just an advanced for of elfroot, or a stronger/more potent version --> royal elfroot. I don't know if they are the same, but we don't see royal elfroot before DAI, and we never see Andraste's Mantle again, so for fun I just decided the Dalish called it Royal Elfroot. It doesn't make sense for the Dalish to use Andrastian names for herbs and such after all. 
> 
> NOTES ABOUT BANN ESMERELLE:  
> The whole conspiracy as a whole felt very slapdash in game. The motivations for those trying to kill the Warden-Commander were rather slim at best, and no one had apparently thought of the consequences. In the Dances scene then, Bann Esmerelle attributes her plan to the idea that under Rendon Howe, Amaranthine itself was made a great power again (she certainly got rich). It think the motivation that she sees Eideann's presence as a disruption of Amaranthine's own fortunes itself is where the issue lies. She probably sees Eideann's Highever roots as a threat, and the fact she murdered the old Arl and brought down everything that Bann Esmerelle believes made Amaranthine great after the Occupation probably led to the escalation. Rendon Howe did in fact do a lot to make sure Amaranthine was still great when the Occupation ended. He was not a good man, but there are those who would be loyal to him based on that fact. Rather than defend Rendon Howe as a person, Bann Esmerelle here is defending the good he did for Amaranthine, and I think this is probably a more popular sentiment in the Arling than "we miss Rendon Howe".


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann deals with the last conspirators in the murder plot; a confrontation in the Chantry leads to a fortuitous meeting; Anders finally gets his hands on his phylactery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: violence (mild)
> 
> Comments always welcome. :)  
> A longer than usual chapter this week! Also I'm back at university again now, so updates are a little slower during busier weeks. I'll try to continue to update every couple of days as I am available. Thanks for reading ;) <3

When she stirred, it was to find Nathaniel and Anders beside her, the mage sleeping with his head on the chaise lounge near her side, the ranger considering the flames that burned low in the hearth of the library of the Bann of Amaranthine’s estate. She lay still a moment, breathing, focusing on where the hurts had been. She still felt a little raw. Her throat was sore, as was her chest where she had felt the poison burn. But she was alive, and the sharp acidic sensation was gone now. She let out a soft sigh.

“How are you?” She sat up slowly, mindful of Anders, and then looked to Nathaniel. 

“Oh you know, brilliant, really. Just wonderful. Not a bit like I drank poison at all,” she said with a voice laced in sarcasm. He shook his head.

“Seems you didn’t learn your lesson then.” 

“Never do,” she muttered, feeling a little weak. “Everything has been consumed in chaos now, I take it?” 

“Of course. It usually is when you set your mind to stupid things like drinking poison, infiltrating silverite mines, recruiting drunken dwarves and emotionally unstable elven women...”

“Ah,” she sighed, finally sitting up and nudging Anders. “Business as usual then.” Her gown was a little crumpled from an evening sleeping on it, but a quick check in the mirror hanging above the library fireplace showed she looked presentable enough. Nathaniel shook his head at her, helping Anders up from the floor where he had presumably slept.

“Most of the nobility are still around, like they aren’t sure whether to go into a panic or mourning. Keenan weeded out a few more with loyalties to my father or Loghain. They’re in the sitting room down the hall if you wish to handle them first.” Eideann sighed, considering her tired looking Wardens, and then she reached to hold both their hands a moment.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Warn us next time you plan to do something stupid?” Anders muttered with a disgruntled sniff. “I’m sick of sleeping beside sick-beds. Being a Warden is worse than being an actual physician.” She smiled at that, nodded a small promise, and then broke away. 

“Nathaniel,” she said softly, and he turned to follow her, recognizing the cool fire in her gaze.

In the sitting room where a mere handful of other lords and knights, gathered on the chairs or leaning against the window frame or pacing the floor, though all looked up when she entered. She considered them all a moment, noting Keenan standing with Lucan in the corner of the room, and then gave her Warden a nod before considering the lords.

“My Lords, my Ladies,” she said quietly. “You know why you are here?”

“So you can murder us without anyone being the wiser,” one shot back darkly.

“Hush!” Another said in a panic, shaking his head and glaring at the woman who had spoken. Eideann sighed, raising her chin a little.

“What good would that do?” she asked the room quietly? “As far as I am aware, none of you has actively plotted for my life. I am not about to police your thoughts.” She shook her head, tangling her fingers together and crossing the room towards the windows. “Ferelden needs all its people now. I know I must earn your respect, if I am ever to have it. Perhaps for some of you that simply is not possible. But I ask for your advice, ladies and gentlemen. I will not force Amaranthine to conform. I must change to suit her. And I shall. But a single man cannot rule a kingdom alone.” She glanced back. “I name each of you to the Amaranthine Council, along with Lord Eddlebrek, Nathaniel Howe, and Ser Derran who was recently made Lord of Teryn’s Down. The purpose of this Council is to serve as the advisors to the Arl or Arlessa of Amaranthine. For the time being, that includes myself. Amaranthine must be united, my Lords, my Ladies.” She glanced to Nathaniel. “What are your thoughts on this, my friend?” 

“I think you’re insane,” he told her frankly. “And I think you’re right.” He glanced sidelong to the room of lords, then closed his eyes. “My father made Amaranthine strong because he clawed for everything he could have. His own ambition destroyed him in the end. And you all know he was a cruel man. He did not share his power.” He looked up to them all then, eyes cold. “This is our home, my Lords, my Ladies. Help me rebuild it. Help me keep it safe.” It was a plea, a quiet one. But from him it held a significant amount of power. 

The man who had hushed the lady before stepped forward, bending before Eideann in a low bow.

“So be it,” he said, and swore his service once again to the Arling of Amaranthine, as he had done at the Vigil during the ceremony. 

And then they all came, until it was only the suspicious lady who was watching with a twist on her lips and dark eyes. 

“And we shall simply submit?” she asked quietly. “What of Bann Esmerelle? What will you do now she is gone?”

“Who is her heir?” 

“She had no heir,” Nathaniel said quietly. “Her estate passed to the Arling upon her death.”

“Her murder, rather, Howe,” the woman cut in curtly. Eideann sighed. 

“So be it,” she said quietly. Arling Banns were a tricky case. Banns often grew from the grassroots with historical support. When one fell, the people chose another. But Amaranthine needed a strong Bann now, someone with experience in trade and handling the nobility. Arls were risen by Teyrns, so the Banns might still be risen by Arls or Teyrns when the need arouse. She pursed her lips a moment. “Amaranthine needs a Bann who has experience in trade, a diplomatic hand, and a lineage loved by the people.” She glanced to the woman, then raised her chin a little. “I name Delilah Howe as Bann of Amaranthine.” The woman stared, and there was a gasp behind her from one of the other lords. Even Nathaniel was staring at her with caution. Eideann simply shook her head. “Delilah has long been a known figure here, and she will care about what happens to the city, and see that things are prospering. She is loved among the smaller people, with the bloodlines that command your attention, is that not true?”

“She is a mere girl…” the woman said sharply.

“She is a woman, a noble-born lady,” Eideann replied quietly. “And she knows these lands and people. She will be the Bann.” She turned then, glancing to those standing at her side after swearing their oaths. “Does anyone have any further objections.”

But there were none. Not really. Eideann sighed, then glanced to Nathaniel.

“Perhaps," she said slowly, "it should be you who informs Delilah and Albert that the Queen of Ferelden has another Satinalia gift to bestow upon them.” He gave her a flat look, then heaved a sigh and put up his hands. 

“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing his way out of the chamber and turning on his heel. She watched him go, then glanced to the other nobility gathered in the chamber. She considered them a moment, eyes taking in their finery and jewels and concerned faces. And then she let her gaze flit to the door and back.

“Go on then,” she sighed, and they went, hurriedly, like they were just eager to be gone. The sole exception was the elderly dowager who had spoken against her. She rose carefully, quietly, brushing down her skirts. Lucan at Keenan’s side gave a soft growl, and the woman’s gaze fluttered to the mabari a moment before back to Eideann. She did not curtsy or bow, or even blink. She just stared her down. Eideann met the gaze back, knowing she was being weighed.

“They say, girl, that when you took Rendon Howe’s life, you left him shattered and broken to die.” Perhaps she had heard it from Loghain’s forces as they had taken the estate during the escape. Perhaps she had servants who had seen and reported on it. Eideann did not flinch. “They say you submitted to justice for it from the Royal Guard as well.” The elderly woman raised and eyebrow and Eideann sighed.

“I did. For a time.”

“Why?”

“Because I had murdered an Arl in his own estate, and even vengeance does not justify it, my Lady,” she said simply.

“But you did not stay in the prison.”

“Do you believe Loghain Mac Tir the sort of man who would give everyone among his enemies a trial, my Lady?” Eideann asked in a quiet voice. “Do you believe he would hear me out when I stood before the Landsmeet, a Teyrna in my own right at the time, and told them of all I had borne witness to, from Highever to Ostagar until that very moment?” She shook her head. “Teyrn Loghain was a brilliant strategist.”

“And you were just better the one time it mattered,” the elderly dowager said simply.

“Perhaps. But when our blades met in the Landsmeet, it was not because of Rendon Howe. It was because Loghain was afraid, my Lady. When the Landsmeet sided against him, it was not I that forced his hand into a confrontation, but his own determination that he was the one in the right.” She was quiet a moment, letting that settle, and then at last she nodded. “I would learn from those mistakes. I would invite those voices that stand in opposition to my own to speak, that I might hear them, and build a Ferelden where the future is good for us all. I am still young yet, and have not the wisdom of years of ruling behind me to draw upon, only my own experiences.” She looked away. “But I know the worth of listening. And I know the worth of second chances. And I know that sometimes costs must be paid.” Her gaze flickered back, hard now, burning with the fire that had earned her the nickname Blue Flame of Highever. They knew that name here, in the Highever Teyrnir. They knew that name, and knew why she had it. The dowager considered her with narrowed eyes, judging. “I cannot make changes if I am dead,” she said quietly, “but if I am not dead, then I can still listen. And I intend to, my Lady. I intend to hear the words of this Council, those that would know better than I the needs of Amaranthine. I need to know that the Arling can stand together. Because the one thing I do know, my Lady, is darkspawn. And the darkspawn under Amaranthine now are the sort that should make anyone afraid. They may pose as great a threat as the Blight. And what I want more than anything else is to stop that from happening and bring peace back to this land.” She wet her lips. “Will you help me? Will you help me to help Amaranthine?” 

“Your brother is now our Teyrn,” the woman said slowly. “What would he make of the Arling of Amaranthine now?” Eideann shook her head.

“My brother is not here, my Lady. I am. And as Queen of Ferelden, I tell you this: I want Amaranthine to flourish. And I cannot do what I must to ensure that happens if there are always to be knives pointed at me in the darkness. Let them be pointed at me in the light instead, in chambers and councils, that I might listen before it is too late, and that sometimes the council might listen in turn. The answer to every problem is not death, my Lady. It comes to us all in time. Let us make do with what little time we have already to make sure Amaranthine lives on.” The elderly woman drew away, locking her hands before her.

“Nathaniel does your bidding now, does he?”

“I have earned his respect. What he does, he does because he wishes to.”

“Perhaps. Or because to disagree might mean the Howe reprieve ended,” the woman mused. Then she sighed. “Very well, Lady Eideann. I shall give you your chance to gain my respect. Earn it, and you shall have it for as long as you reign. Lose it and I will set my forces against yours until one of us lies dead. Prove you are worthy of the crown you stole from Loghain Mac Tir. Prove you can fill the shoes that the man who freed us from Orlais has left behind.” 

“I will never be Loghain Mac Tir,” Eideann replied simply. “I can only be Eideann Cousland. But I will endeavor to prove my worth to you.” The dowager gave the slightest of smiles and then gave an airy look, turning away.

“An Archdemon _was_ a nice start,” she said simply, and then swept out. Eideann sighed, then glanced back to Keenan who was watching her with quiet eyes. 

“Maker’s breath. Will it always be like this?” she asked him, reaching to stroke Lucan’s fur and longing for Angus. Keenan shook his head, because he did not know, or had nothing really to say. 

“I served under Teyrn Loghain at Gwaren,” he said quietly. “He…was not often there.” 

“Tell me, Warden. When you look at me, what sort of leader do you see?” she asked him, and he paused a moment before she smiled. “Honestly.”

“I see a woman who dragged a man from a pit with crushed legs, because even though he had given up, she would not. I see a woman who looks evil in the eye and finds a way to drive it back. I see a woman who is very brave, sometimes foolishly so, and who would do anything to see a land saved from the Blight.” He considered her and then added, “I see a woman who came into the home of her once worst-enemy, befriended his children, and healed the rifts of a land once divided, and all she wants in return is the chance to continue to serve.” Eideann looked away then, giving the slightest of snorts at the last. 

“I sound like a madwoman,” she replied, eyes shining.

“You did drink poison last night,” he replied pointedly. Eideann sighed, then closed her eyes a moment, thinking, before glancing back to him. 

“Warden Keenan, a time will come when this venture in Amaranthine is finished. At that time, I will need to resume my duties as Queen. While I will retain the position of Warden-Commander for Ferelden, I will be unable to respond to every threat personally, and I will have two Keeps to occupy with Wardens in the meantime. There are many things yet to be done, and I cannot do them alone.” She turned, fixing him with both eyes now, facing him head on. He was listening, caution on his face. “When that time comes, I intend to name a head for Vigil’s Keep, which will become our diplomatic and financial center, and remain allied to the Highever Teyrnir. But the base of Warden operations, Soldier’s Peak, will need manning with good men. Good people.” She glanced to Lucan, then back to him. “You are a good man, Keenan. And you will do good there. Unlike many of my recruits, you have temperance and patience. You seize control when it needs to be seized, and then relinquish it again when the time has passed. You read situations, and you recognize weaknesses. You are my Senior Warden here,” she said quietly. “When this is done, I want to make you Warden-Lieutenant of Soldier’s Peak. I will send letters of introduction to Seneschal Dryden if you will accept it.” Keenan was staring a moment, lips parted. Eideann waited, gazing back, praying he would not say no. And then the man gave a bow to hide his hesitation.

“Your Majesty…Commander…I…” He drew a deep breath. “I am honored. I do not deserve such commendation.” 

“I need your experience and your knowledge, as a guard and a Grey Warden, Keenan. And you know what Wardens must be. You volunteered, did you not?” He nodded. She pursed her lips, nodding to herself in response.

“Then it is done, unless you would rather it not be so.” 

“No, Majesty. I shall not let you down,” he promised, his hand creeping around Lucan’s collar. “You have given me everything, my life back, Commander. I _will not_ let you down.” Eideann reached to pet Lucan again, then drew a deep breath, offering a quiet smile.

“It makes me glad to know it,” she said softly. “I do not think you will let me down. You are a good man, and capable.” Keenan gave another bow and Eideann drew back a little. “Come, there is something I must take care of now that shall not wait long.” Keenan nodded, and motioned for Lucan to follow them out. 

***

Her skirts dragged across the ancient flagstones where Andraste herself had once stood, and she gazed up into the cloister where the Chant of Light was echoing demurely in the eaves.  
The scent of tallow and beeswax from the candles burning at the altar hung as wisps of smoke in the air, making her feel heavy and sleepy with the mystery of it. 

Her Cousland eyes settled in silence on the stone effigy of Andraste on the altar. She sighed and then stepped forward onto the single crimson carpet between the pews, listening to the soft murmur of people singing prayers. She had never felt entirely comfortable in the Chantry, but here as everywhere she had an impression to make. 

She heard the soft shuffling of feet as Anders and Nathaniel followed her at a distance. She ignored them a moment, coming to stand before the effigy of Andraste. And then she carefully took a knee, velvet skirts rippling out across the floor about her. 

_You have never answered,_ she thought. _And I do not need you to. I have always done what I must. And I will not apologize for this. I have never needed your guidance to move forward, or your faith to sustain me, and I have seen too many things to believe there is anything but darkness in compelling songs now._ She bent her head slightly, closing her eyes. _But on the off chance you do watch from a distance, I ask you to be merciful to those who do need and want your prayers. After all, they are all the Maker’s children. It does not matter if I believe, just that some of them do._

She heard soft footsteps beside her and looked up to catch the Revered Mother waiting for her. She turned her head, emerald and gold coronet sparkling in the candlelight, and rose in a single fluid motion, her velvet skirts liquid crimson across her graceful movement. 

“My child,” the Revered Mother said softly. “I had not thought to see you here. They say you do not often visit the chapels and Chantries.” Eideann gave a slight curtsy. 

“It is true,” she replied in a low voice. “I find asking someone else to make amends and keep me safe has never served me as it has others. I find little comfort in the asking.” She glanced to Nathaniel and Anders a moment, then back to the Revered Mother with a small smile. “There was…a matter I wished to discuss with you, if you might spare me some time?” 

“Of course, Your Majesty. I have time for all the Maker’s children.” Eideann made no comment, just motioned for Anders and Nathaniel to stay in the main cloister as she was led off towards the transcept, their footfalls sounding muted on the floor. The small choir of Brothers and Sisters singing the hushed chant watched them, and Eideann felt the uncomfortable feeling of their eyes on her back. It made her think of the darkspawn watching in the darkness, and she repressed a shudder with a soft sigh. The Revered Mother noticed as she held the door for Eideann to pass into her offices. She considered the Queen with a wary look, then drew a breath. “Does Your Majesty find no comfort in the Chant of Light?” Eideann simply gave her a small little smile that did not touch her eyes. 

“I get little peace from it, Revered Mother. It reminds me rather more of other songs.” The woman’s eyes were harder now.

“The false calls of the Tevinter Gods,” she said simply. Eideann had not meant it as an affront, but the woman appeared…prickly. 

“Perhaps,” Eideann replied softly. _Or something deeper. Something darker. Something older._ Instead she simply folded her hands carefully and put on her most regal expression. “I am not here to speak on the Chant of the Maker, Revered Mother, but rather to speak instead of his mercy.” The woman closed the door quietly, then considered Eideann with a careful look. 

“And what mercy might the Maker give to you, Grey Queen?” 

“You should know, Revered Mother, a Grey Warden who undertakes the Joining sacrifices willingly of himself to repel the forces of the Blight brought upon us by the Magisters that breached the Golden City.” She had no idea if it was even true, but it was best to lace this request in terms that the woman might consider more generously. “Each Warden pays a price for this, a cost. One day, each Warden must walk into the Deep Roads and places further beyond, and there lay down their lives to end the darkspawn. We call this final journey the Calling. We undertake it solemnly, in reverence to the Maker, aware of our mortality and our sacrifice, and we undertake it alone.” The woman’s gaze was still wary, but she recognized at least the sacrifice was one undertaken in the Maker’s name, at least in this version Eideann was trying to tell for her. “Those Wardens that go into the Deep Roads die there, in conditions I would feel unclean to speak of here in the Maker’s house.” She bowed her head. “I have under my command a Warden mage, and he too will need to go to his Calling in time. We were told by the Templars that he would be hunted should he ever leave the Wardens. It is…clear to me there is a conflict here. I cannot battle the forces of darkness in the Maker’s name when my own people are being held back from this noble duty.” 

“And what would you have of me then, Queen Eideann?” the Revered Mother said grimly. She had shifted her weight to one foot now, a little abrasive in her manner. 

“My husband, King Alistair, is Constable of the Grey, and was at one point a Templar. It was he who chose to conscript this mage, to make the man a Warden. A Templar, a Chantry Brother, decided that this was the Maker’s path for this mage. I beg you see this as such, since I cannot progress without the Maker’s guidance and assistance in this regard.” She bowed her head a little, but her eyes were set on the Revered Mother’s quiet contemplation. “Mages from the Circles of Magi are tracked by the magic of phylacteries. I want the phylactery of my Warden. It will be kept safe, in hands I trust, should there be complications. But I want it so that this man can do his job.”

“Surely you must see – ” the Revered Mother interjected irritably, but Eideann silenced her with a hand.

“If I do not receive his phylactery, I shall make it known to the world that mages are kept on blood magic leashes sanctioned by the Chantry itself. We cannot have such corruption in the heart of the Maker’s House. We cannot have watched Andraste die on her pyre to stop the malicious murder of innocents for pursuit of power when the Chantry itself uses the self-same tactics.”

“The Chantry preaches the word of the Maker!” the woman insisted with an angry hiss. “The Maker demands we all make sacrifices!”

“I know full well what sacrifices we are sometimes called upon to make. I have given myself entirely to the Maker’s hands in becoming a Grey Warden, as have those underneath me. We are the vanguard, those that defend against the shadows. The nightmares I have seen would give you a year of sleepless nights, Mother, if I spoke to you of them. With this blood magic leash you keep on any of my mage soldiers, you inhibit the will of the Maker himself. Would you rather the darkspawn felled us all? Warden Mages have already given everything of themselves to make it right. And we cannot judge the actions of an entire people based on the single action of seven. I have seen true darkness, Revered Mother. It does not lie in Tevinter. And it does not lie in mages. It lies in the eyes of a Blighted Old God who sings a song so dark and cold it blocks out even the Chant of the Maker. When your soul can rest easily in that, then we shall discuss if the Chantry knows more of sacrifice than the Grey Wardens.” Eideann raised her a chin a little, daring the woman to fight her. She did.

“Mages,” the Revered Mother snapped, “are the Maker’s children, and will bend to his will.” 

“Mages have a gift, given by the Maker himself, and instead of celebrating another of his works, we are instead content to hide it away, to deny the truth that we cause our own evils, Revered Mother. Magic does not make a man cruel. Cruelty does. And refusing to recognizing the humanity or the sacrifice of those who have that gift, refusing to give them the light of the Maker’s love, instead chaining them in prisons – !”

“We do not keep them in prisons!”

“I have seen the Tower!” Eideann shot back angrily. “I have seen the nicest prison you have here in Ferelden and even that was cold and cruel. The worst? Is Kirkwall’s Circle of Magi not an actual prison where Tevinter once harbored its slaves? What legacy does this leave?!” She shook her head in irritation. “I am not asking for something so terrible as the dissolution of all we know in the wake of the Blight, Revered Mother. I want a single phylactery to be moved into the care of the Wardens under the Templar King Alistair. If you shall not endeavor to assist me in this single matter of making a man’s sacrifice mean something, you shall find yourself in a difficult position, as shall I. I would rather we kept this a civil matter, Revered Mother. Surely even the Chantry can at times make exceptions, or has Senior Enchanter Wynne not proven the good mages can do when allowed to battle the Blight?” She sighed. “This Warden is a healer. He seeks to do good, to make right the wrongs of Tevinter’s past. He is no evil man, no blood mage, no apostate. He is a Warden. And he is a doctor. And many people already owe him their lives, myself included.” The Revered Mother looked like she had swallowed a lemon. 

“I will not deliver the phylactery of the apostate Anders into your hands,” she said curtly. “I do not care what he has done. If people knew that we could simply relinquish our leash on magic…” She shook her head brusquely. “The Maker as my witness, no, Your Majesty. I will not compromise the Maker’s will for the Grey Wardens. How many dark and terrible things have happened because Grey Wardens deemed it must be so.”

“You tell me,” Eideann said sharply. “How many dark and terrible things?”

“Many,” the woman replied. “King Cailan’s death for instance. You yourself have no clean hands in this, Your Majesty, as well you know. If you wish the jurisdiction of mages as well, you will learn that the Chantry is not an institution under your command. We are the law of the Maker himself, and we are not to be commanded within borders.” 

“If the Chantry will not agree to release the phylacteries of mages that are inducted into the lifelong service of the Grey Wardens, I will choose my mages from apostates alone, and I will give them every shelter they desire,” Eideann said simply, her gaze flashing. 

“There will be an Exalted March!” the woman declared, shocked at the thought. “You will bring the might of the Divine upon us for this foolishness?!” 

“If the Divine in all her wisdom decides that to save Thedas she must destroy the Grey Wardens, let her deal with the next Blight when it comes. I will take any who will Join me in the shadows to stand Vigilant, and I will not hide behind my skirts for fear of displeasing and institution that claims to speak for a god it itself says has already cast his eyes from us. What use have I for the Maker when he has no use for his children, Revered Mother? Stare a darkspawn broodmother in the face and know it was once a human woman who believed in the Maker, who was taken unwillingly from her home by darkspawn that were cursed from the Maker, and is now to spend the rest of her life giving birth to the rest of a horde.”

“The Magisters despoiled the Maker’s Seat!”

“Yes!” Eideann hissed. “And the Maker retaliated by waging war on mankind for a thousand years! Shall I beg and plead for this Maker to save my people?! He does not hear prayers! He does not listen! Andraste alone could turn his ear, and now she too is gone, and none of us holds an interest anymore. Do you understand, Revered Mother. We are beneath the eyes of the Maker, mere insects, nothing more than ash. If he loves us as his children and this is his will, why then will he not turn back?!” She shook her head. “You cannot answer because you do not know, because these are the thoughts of everyone of faith. I do not need to have faith in the Maker, Revered Mother. I will fight and defend my people from the curse inflicted on us in the darkspawn. And if I must declare myself the target of an Exalted March to do it, then by the Maker’s name I swear I shall!” The woman looked shocked, staring, and Eideann narrowed her eyes, glaring back. For a moment, neither said nothing. And then, finally, the Revered Mother shook herself free of the feelings, her gaze flickering away, then back as she drew a composing breath. 

“Queen Eideann. You are a woman as any other woman, made royalty or not. The sacrifices you have made to defend this nation are recognizes. And I am sorry your faith in the Maker has been lost. You remain his child nonetheless, and I his servant, to do as the Divine wills. And I cannot – ”

“The Maker take you, where is the Knight-Lieutenant of Amaranthine. I will speak instead with them if I must,” she said flatly, filling her voice with regal demand. “Bring me the most senior Templar here. I shall deal with them.” 

There was a soft knock at the door, and then it opened, and Eideann glanced back. The Revered Mother’s face fell a little, and she grimaced with distaste. There was a Chantry Brother at the door, brown hair tidy but with a scruffy beard that looked like he had never learned to properly shave. He had the look of a man who had seen enough darkness in a lifetime to recognize the quiet reserve of that sacrifice in another. His eyes settled on Eideann a moment in quiet contemplation.

“I am Brother Silas Corthwaite,” he said softly, giving a quiet bow. 

“Brother Silas. I am in a meeting. If you have need of – ”

“Forgive me, Revered Mother,” he said hurriedly, eyes flickering to her. “Revered Mother Dorothea sent me to fetch Queen Eideann.” Eideann narrowed her gaze. Being fetched.

“You may tell Mother Dorothea that – ” The woman paused a moment, then reined herself in. “I am not quite finished speaking with her Majesty the Queen at the moment.” 

“It is…of rather an urgent matter, but she will wait.” 

“It matters not,” Eideann said simply, turning brusquely. “Our conversation is more or less done.” She gave the Chantry Mother a withering look and the woman drew herself up a little at the glare. “Tell Mother Dorothea I shall be with her shortly, but I must not tarry long. There are darkspawn waiting to flood Amaranthine and I’m quite busy at the moment trying to bury them back in their holes.” Brother Silas gave a flicker of a smile, then another bow and pushed the door wider again to step out. Eideann glanced back to the Revered Mother, eyes flickering up and down the Chantry vestments the woman wore. “I will have that phylactery if I must write to Divine Beatrix herself, Revered Mother.”

“You will do as you must, Queen Eideann. And the Maker will make the choice.” Eideann just raised her chin with a small sneer, shaking her head. 

“No, Revered Mother. The Maker makes no choices. It is, after all, why he created humanity in the first place. To see what choices we would make ourselves.” And then she turned on her heel and swept out. 

In the hall, Brother Silas was waiting for her to take her across to the other transept. Eideann let her gaze skim to Nathaniel and Anders who were standing awkwardly at the end of the pews, waiting and watching, Nathaniel with his arms crossed and Anders with his back guarded. Eideann let her gaze flicker away, and at least Nathaniel recognized that for what it was. He put a hand on Ander’s shoulder and gave him a soft nudge towards the door. Eideann fell into step with Brother Silas.

“I…I am a great admirer, Your Majesty,” the man said softly. “There are not enough in the Chantry willing to stand up for what may be right.” Eideann glanced to him with surprise, then blinked and narrowed her gaze.

“I…thank you, Brother Silas. I have met precious few who seem to recognize it as a beneficial trait.” 

“Sister Leliana would have agreed with you, were she here, I think.” Eideann’s gaze softened slightly and she wet her lips, pausing on the carpets before the stone Andraste. He glanced to her with that quiet look.

“She was here? You knew her?” 

“We met in a prison.” Eideann let out a soft breath, looking away.

“Marjolaine,” she said in a quiet murmur. Silas nodded.

“She and I served this Chantry for awhile before she went to the Lothering Chantry. Revered Mother Dorothea ministers at the Chantry of Valence, but she has been in Amaranthine to see to the situation after the Blight and assist in the reconstruction of the Denerim Chantry that was burned to the ground. But…she will be waiting…” Eideann started. 

“Yes, of course, lead on.” The man took her down the steps of the transept into the bowels of the ancient Chantry, their footsteps echoing over the flagstones. Down in the depths, the Chant was muted, a quiet hum that put her no more at ease than before. 

There were few enough Brothers and Sisters in these sections of the Chantry. A few were there in one chamber, transcribing books by candlelight. Eideann considered it curiously as Brother Silas led her along towards the far end of the chambers where a great wooden door stood slightly ajar. As he approached, he reached to tap gently with his knuckles on the door. 

A woman looked up, elderly, hair a light gray. But her eyes were sharp still, a deep flinty color in a shape that made Eideann think suddenly of her mother. And she knew her. She recognized the look. It was the woman the demon in the Fade had impersonated when she had stumbled into Leliana at the Circle Tower. It was Leliana’s Revered Mother.

She was bent over a small bed, packing a bag with books and belongings, but at the knock she looked up and smiled warmly, setting aside her things. Eideann considered the bag, then the woman, as the Revered Mother reached to take Brother Silas’s hands a moment and thank him. 

“Queen Eideann,” she said then, brushing past the man. “I have heard much of your exploits. They call you the Grey Queen, no?” Eideann gave her a wary look, and the woman smiled, recognizing her caution. “I am not here to chide you further in regards to what began upstairs,” she assured her quietly.

“No? What then?” Eideann could hear an Orlesian accent in her voice, and was certain there was a trap somewhere. The Chantry did not play at political games, they claimed, but all knew it for a lie. They played the same games as everyone else, and sometimes they played smarter.

“Silas, the door if you will,” Revered Mother Dorothea said, her voice quiet and husky. Silas did as requested, carefully reaching to close the door shut. “What I have to say, Queen Eideann, is best kept between us three.” Eideann glanced to them, and Mother Dorothea gave a soft laugh at her expense. “You are right to be cautious, but we are no enemies of yours. Sister Leliana speaks highly of you, and I believe I may be able to assist you.” 

“I do not concern you then? With my rampant blasphemy in the cloister?” Eideann said, raising her brow. Mother Dorothea gave her little smile, glancing away, clasping her hands before her. 

“The Maker has turned his eyes from us. Who are we to know what he thinks? We are merely mortal after all.” She bowed her head. “If we cannot extend the Maker’s love to all his children, we are not extending his love at all. And the Maker has chosen for you this strength and this ferocity.” Her sly gaze flickered back to Eideann’s and she let her hands fall. “You hare a champion in your own right, Your Majesty, and you reached that point by believing in yourself. Andraste did not reach out to the Maker, it was just the Maker who answered.” She gave her soft laugh again. “I do not think you were ever a reverent child, and I do not need you to be. That too is the Maker’s will.” Eideann shook her head.

“Beg your pardon, Revered Mother, but I am uncomfortable with the topic at hand, and eager to be on my way,” she said quietly. “If you have something that may help me in my cause...” 

“Oh I do,” Revered Mother Dorothea smiled, then reached to her belongings, drawing forth a slip of paper. “On this paper you will find instructions to a small warehouse in the streets behind the Chantry. There, you shall find what you seek.” Eideann’s lips parted and she stared a moment, then reached for the paper.

“I cannot just break in,” she said after a moment, shaking her head. “I am the Queen of Ferelden. I may have done enough damage here already.” 

“Revered Mother Leanna will not go running to Divine Beatrix or stand in your way. She is often quick to temper, and she is…brittle in her own belief in the wake of the Blight. You have simply put her off guard, Your Majesty,” Dorothea explained. “It was cold perhaps, but you were right. If the Chantry is to truly be the voice of the Maker in Thedas, we must open our arms to all and recognize the hypocrisy in our hearts.” Eideann blinked, then softened a little, considering the woman.

“Leliana is lucky to have had such a teacher,” she said quietly, closing her fist about the paper in her hands. 

“Tell those at the door that a Revered Mother sent you to do the Maker’s work, Your Majesty,” Dorothea smiled. “By the time they realize that it was I and not Revered Mother Leanna, I will have already departed back to Valence.” She smiled. “And should you have need of further assistance, you need only contact me there.” Eideann gave a slight bow of head to the woman, smiling.

“Thank you,” she said in a low murmur. The woman smiled in reply and reached to take her had as she had done with Brother Silas. 

“The Maker says magic is to serve mankind,” she said quietly. “But we possess a responsibility to those who serve us. We cannot hail them when their magic is useful and then lock them in a cage when it is inconvenient. They are the Maker’s children, not to be tolerated, but to be cherished. Look after those Warden mages who give their lives in service to the Maker’s fight, Queen Eideann, and follow your heart. The Maker gave you the ability to think, after all.” She drew back then, and glanced to Brother Silas who gave a bow and then looked to Queen Eideann.

“Majesty, if I might escort you out?” Eideann smiled, nodding, and then glanced back to Revered Mother Dorothea who was continuing her packing with a quiet, self-satisfied smile.

“Thank you again, Mother Dorothea. It has been an honor to meet you.” 

“One day,” she said with a quiet look, “I shall remind you of that, and this favor.”

“And I shall repay it,” Eideann replied quietly, a solemn promise. How grand that favor may yet be, she had no way of knowing. 

Brother Silas walked with her back through the Chantry basements, looking a little satisfied, for all he had simply been the messenger. Eideann considered his profile as they walked, wondering at his history, his past. To have known Leliana…

“I served in the rebellion,” he finally told her, sensing her curiosity. He mounted the steps in his Chantry vestments, glancing fully to her then. “I served under Arl Rendon Howe at White River. Afterwards, I became a poacher on Arl Urien’s lands, hence the prison.” She bit at her lip a little.

“I did not mean…” she said apologetically, bashful at being caught staring. “I should not have stared.”

“I fought near your father in that battle,” he said softly, though he must have been young then, a man barely able to grow a beard. She gave a soft smile, and he gave a soft bow at the top of the steps. “Blessings of the Maker upon you, Queen Cousland-Theirin.” Eideann bade him farewell, then turned back to the carpeted aisle between the pews, ignoring Revered Mother Leanna who was watching her with a surly expression. 

Outside she found Nathaniel and Anders, standing together looking nervous beneath the statue of Andraste that graced the terrace. At her approach, both looked over, Anders with excitement and Nathaniel with reproach. The mage reached her first, grinning.

“That was amazing! Standing up to her like that! Saying what you did! Maker’s breath!” 

“Must you,” Nathaniel said darkly, “antagonize everyone in Amaranthine before you’re happy.” Eideann sighed, giving Nathaniel a look first.

“I am a Warden,” she said quietly. “I was told by a Warden once there were only three things that really mattered to being a Warden: to be firm in your beliefs, to protect people from their ignorance, and to be as loyal as you can to your brothers, even knowing you will share their deaths.” Her eyes narrowed a little. “As Queen I have an obligation to protect my subjects, and as Warden-Commander I have an obligation to do so from the shadows if need be. I will fight whoever I must to see that justice is done.” Anders gave a sigh.

“Thank the Maker,” he said, shaking his head and closing his eyes. Eideann just met Nathaniel’s gaze instead. The nobleman simply sighed, then quirked the slightest smile.

“I can’t convince you otherwise,” he told her simply. “What use in expending the effort to try. What is done is done. But I know I’ll end up cleaning up the mess.” She just smiled back, then unfurled the paper in her hand, considering the instructions. 

“Come,” she said softly. “I know where they keep the phylacteries.” 

The warehouse itself was non-descript. Eideann felt spectacularly unarmed, but sometimes a gown and crown was more use to her than a pair of swords or a knife. Of the three of them, Anders was the most dangerous in that moment, a mage, but there would no doubt be Templars on guard, and there really was no way to counteract the Templar muffling spells. Eideann was aware they were going to need to rely on Dorothea’s endorsement and her own political luck. 

Outside the door were two Templars, stationed in full regalia. The first recognized her almost instantly, dropping a bow and muttering a “Your Majesty.” The second stared a moment, then gave a nervous laugh.

“What can we…err…?” 

“I am here about the Maker’s business,” Eideann said as forcefully as she could. “I have arranged with the Revered Mother to gain access to this warehouse, and I will see it done immediately.” There was some awkward shuffling, and then the first man abruptly turned and let her in.

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” he said simply, and Eideann thanked him graciously before sweeping inside. 

The warehouse was fairly empty within. Crates were piled against the walls, housing the phylacteries of all the mages, some now dead. Eideann did not even know where to begin. She considered the crates, each carefully divided, and then bowed her head a moment to consider.

“Only two guards?” Nathaniel asked quietly.

“Maybe they don’t want to draw attention to the cache?” Anders replied. “Could we be that lucky?” Eideann gave a soft smirk, shaking her head.

“Probably not,” she replied simply. “So…where to begin?” 

“It’s…this way.” She glanced back to see Anders take off across the floor, warily leading them towards a set of boxes in the corner.

“How do you know?” Nathaniel asked warily, hands fisting a little into his gloves. Anders gave him a flat look.

“Because it’s mine. It is as connected to me as I am to it,” he said simply. Nathaniel glanced to Eideann warily, but she ignored his caution. This, at least, she had to do. She had told Anders if he wanted to go he could go. And she would let him do so in freedom. She only wished she could do more. The Circle had given her the perspective she needed to determine that mages were people. Some, like Uldred, we bad, but she had seen enough of Anders to know his head was a well of compassion and desire to help. She would see this done.

But as they approached the back of the room, there was a clink of armor and the sound of people coming forward, and suddenly there was a good handful of Templars on guard and prepared for an intrusion. The men outside had not been all that was waiting to watch for trouble, it seemed.

At their head was the senior Templar with the grim look who had been accompanying Alistair on his journey northward. Eideann almost laughed at the sight of her again, but instead she schooled herself to calm. Anders, eyes wide, stepped back, shifting towards Nathaniel, who put a second person between the Templars and the mage, just behind Eideann’s shoulder. Eideann was glad for the presence. 

“And here I almost believed that the infamous Anders would have cut and run by now,” came the quiet voice of the Templar woman, her eyes scowling and cold. Anders somewhere behind her gave a short sniff.

“I suppose I should have known it would be you,” he replied with a mirthless laugh. Eideann raised her chin to consider the Templar Leiutenant who had refused to even recognize her as Queen not two months prior.

“You made a poor choice with this one, Commander,” the woman replied, continuing to refuse her the official regal title. Eideann let it slide, crossing her arms. “Anders will never submit,” the woman said sharply. “Not to us, and not to you.” Eideann smiled then, giving a soft chuckle and shaking her head.

“He’s made a fine Grey Warden so far,” she said simply. The Templar woman grimaced, crows feet at the corner of her eyes wrinkling further as she glowered.

“So far, yes,” she said, as if it was only a matter of time. Eideann gritted her teeth. 

“I only ever ask for so far,” she replied quietly. “It is a decision he must make himself every day, and I trust him to keep his word to me.” The Lieutenant shook her head.

“I’ll make sure that this… _murderer_ is never a bother to anyone again.” She moved as if to step around Eideann who stepped to block her in turn, staring her down completely unarmed.

“You can’t arrest me!” Anders said. “King Alistair and Queen Eideann allowed my conscription!” Nathaniel was looming behind her. Eideann could feel the anger on him in waves. 

“The Chantry’s authority supercedes the Crown in this matter,” the Templar snapped, glaring at Eideann. “He cannot hide within the Grey Warden’s ranks.” 

“I think you shall find that he can,” Eideann said in a dangerously low voice. “And if you try to take him, you shall find yourself in the position of having to murder the Queen of Ferelden.” The woman gave a dark glare.

“Hardly suprising,” she spat. “The Grey Wardens have ever been a haven for criminals and maleficar. I do not know how you inspire such loyalty, Anders, but it will avail you nought.”

“The only murderer I see here, Knight-Lieutenant, is you,” Eideann said quietly. “If you lay a hand on him, the Crown of Ferelden will see you answer for it. Knight-Commander Greagoir knows the value of a Warden, if you do not. This mage is twice the human being you will ever be.”

“He killed those Templars sent to hold him!” the woman declared fiercely.

“Or the darkspawn did. Until we know for sure, I will not condemn a man without proof. And seeing as there were darkspawn emissaries at the Keep, there is no way to know.” The woman glared, and Eideann shifted a little, eyes narrowed. “Does the Chantry wish the blood of Ferelden’s royal line on its hands? Or would you prefer to walk away from this without a diplomatic incident. I have the Revered Mother’s sanction to be here, and she knows why.” At that the Knight-Lieutenant’s expression was a flash of confusion, and then it hardened. She grimaced, pondering, and then finally shoved her sword back into its sheath, shooting Eideann a dark look. 

“One day, Queen Eideann, there will be a reckoning for the way you throw your weight around. One day you shall feel the Chantry’s might, and you shall know you were wrong.”

“I look forward to the day Divine Beatrix makes an Archdemon appear as meek as a kitten, Knight-Lieutenant. Now, as current Arlessa of Amaranthine, I hereby issue your exile from Amaranthine effective immediately. Get out of my city, Knight-Lieutenant. If I see you again, I will set the guards to hunt you down, and we shall see how you enjoy the experience.” The woman gave a scoffing hiss, then turned away, storming past them. Eideann watched her go, then glanced to the other Templar. “You know why we are here,” she said curtly. “Fetch his phylactery now.” 

The Templar leaped to get the job done, disappearing behind a tower of crates and rummaging through to find it. Eideann finally let her hands drop, breathing a slow, long breath, her heart pounding. Half of her had expected to end up dead today, or at least throw Ferelden into war with the Chantry. She was glad she had escaped that thus far. 

Anders had emerged from behind Nathaniel’s shoulder, and was watching her with quiet and careful eyes.

“You…stood by me,” he said in a soft murmur, coming to stand at her side. Eideann just sighed, glancing sidelong to him. 

“You’re a Grey Warden,” she said. “And I need every single Grey Warden. But you are also a friend.” He bowed his head at that, looking a little like his entire world had just spectacularly differently than he had foreseen. He wet his lips, then nodded at her side.

“I…guess they do,” he said softly. She glanced back as the Templar reappeared, a vial of twisting red glass not dissimilar from the Life Gem she had smashed in the Brecilian Forest in his hand. He considered the pair of them warily, then Eideann solved his dilemma by putting out a hand. He thrust it into her waiting palm, looking discomfited. Eideann simply turned on her heel then.

“Thank you, Ser Templar,” she said curtly and then proceeded out, Anders and Nathaniel hurrying to keep up on her heels.

It was not until they were along the street that Anders, who had not taken his eyes from her hand, drew alongside her again, nervously watching her like she was now going to hold it above him. She considered him, then quietly took his hand in her free one and pressed the phylactery into his palm, the vial pulsing to the touch like a heartbeat. As it touched his hand, she heard him exhale a heavy sigh, like a pain was being relieved.

“Take your freedom,” she told him, “earned through all your work with the Wardens. Do something worthy with it?” He just considered her with quiet eyes, then pursed his lips.

“I…” He drew a breath. “I…Queen Eideann…” Eideann sighed, letting her shoulders drop a little and fixed him with a quiet look, a small smile.

“Just Eideann,” she told him gently. He gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“May I point out,” he said softly, “that you’re alright?” She tucked her arm in through his, and then with the other caught Nathaniel’s arm, until she was walking between them.

“Just alright?” she asked with a quiet smile.

“Don’t be arrogant,” Nathaniel said with a sigh, earning a laugh from Anders on her other side.

“And remarkably lovely, if I’m allowed to say,” Anders conceded, clasping his phylactery close to his chest with his free arm. His smile slipped. “Really, when the Templars came for me, you could have decided I wasn’t worth the trouble. Both of you. But I apparently _am_ worth the trouble.”

“Of course you are,” Nathaniel said fiercely, in a voice so dark and heavy it surprised Eideann. She blinked, then glanced back to Anders with the slightest of smiles.

“Considering I’m usually a lot of trouble,” the mage said in amusement, “I should be grateful.”

“Yes you should,” Nathaniel grumbled. Eideann gave a soft clear laugh.

“Oh, you two,” she sighed, shaking her head. “You’re neither of you so much trouble.”

“Says the woman who drinks poison,” Anders pointed out with an arched eyebrow. “When you recruited me, I thought I was jumping from the frying pan and into the fire. But being a Warden is almost tolerable.”

“Indeed,” Nathaniel grimaced, shaking his head, but he had not unlinked their arms yet. Anders just gave him a sly look.

“Of course. Don’t you agree, Commander? A pleasant stroll through the park with darkspawn.” Eideann nodded sagely, a grin splitting her face.

“Oh I’m so glad I could make that happen for you.” He chuckled, and even Nathaniel gave a sigh, relenting in his dour mood for the moment as they made their way across the snow-dusted cobbles.

“You’re a giver,” Anders grinned. “I’m very grateful.” And then his smile slipped and he carefully glanced down at his phylactery, considering it a moment. His lips parted, and he stopped in his tracks, and Eideann broke her arm from his a moment, turning Nathaniel around to stand a few steps away, watching the man struggle with the concept of his freedom. 

And then Anders’s face went hard, set like stone. He raised his fist, clasped tight on the vial, up to the height of his head before slamming it down as hard as he could, sending the phylactery shattering into the stones. The vial smashed, splattering a combination of blood and lyrium across the snows, and painting the ground at his feet bright red. And then he stared at it a moment, panting, as mystical smoke rose from the blood on the ground and the spell evaporated, lost. 

And then Nathaniel was slipping his arm from hers, crossing back over the snows, until he was stood before Anders. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder, coaxing Anders to meet his gaze, and tears stood in the mage’s eyes. Nathaniel said nothing simply nodded, and then closed the man in his arms as Anders fell to sobbing, the weight of all that had happened crashing over him like the waves of the Waking Sea. 

Eideann stood and let them have their moment, their…whatever it was between them, and bowed her head a little, emerald and golden crown glistening in the morning light of the snowy Ferelden winter. A breeze touched her face, a soft warning. 

_Soon it will be time to continue the hunt. Soon there will be a reckoning,_ it whispered, like the Blight whispered sometimes when she was near the darkspawn. Or at least those that the Architect had not cured of the Blightsong. She shuddered a little, pulling her cloak closer, and her eyes went hard as she glanced towards the center of the city, quiet and solemn and fierce. 

_Let them come,_ she thought, proud and strong. _When it matters, Ferelden will not bend, will not fall. I won’t let them win._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES:
> 
> Revered Mother Leanna is the Revered Mother during the Amaranthine arc in accordance with the game (Blight Orphans quests give her name). I don't know how long she has had the position or whatnot, but for creative license, let's assume she's fairly new to the appointment, since I am sure many were lost during the Blight. 
> 
> As for Brother Silas Corthwaite and Revered Mother Dorothea, these are familiar faces from Leliana's past. Silas swore himself to the Chantry after escaping from Arl Urien's prison where he was being held captive by a Commander Harwin Raleigh. Raleigh was working with Marjolaine. The papers that Leliana was originally caught with, that incriminated her, were in fact originally military movement documents being delivered to Raleigh after being stolen from Revered Mother Dorothea in Valence. 
> 
> Revered Mother Dorothea is later named Divine Justinia V in 9:34 dragon (three years from the current time). I'm assuming those smaller Chantries in the vicinity of Ferelden would have sent aid after the Blight, and Mother Dorothea always was hands on. Her quote about mages is actually a line directly spoken by her in one of the novels, so this appears something she would do. She is also considered a master of the Great Game of Orlais, and so her politicking is in character I think (as much as it can be without too much to go on). I like to assume Leliana, who originally joined the Chantry in Amaranthine and was later transferred to Lothering, does keep contact with both Dorothea and Silas. 
> 
> In regards to Anders and the phylactery, in the game he never actually finds it, so someone still has it, and yet he is able to later hide out in Kirkwall forever. That did not make sense, so this was to correct that inconsistency for later purposes. I don't know if mages can sense their own phylacteries. They glow brighter when they get close to the mage they are made for, which is how Templars use them to find mages. In this case, I'm assuming he can feel it. It is his blood and a spell, after all, so we'll go with it. The Templar probably just found the brightest one and went "ah, that's his".


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran takes his leave; Eideann and her companions rescue Sigrun in the Deep Roads; the Grey Wardens begin their assault of Kal'Hirol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: violence
> 
> Comments always welcome ;)

It felt good to be in some semblance of fighting gear again after so many days in dresses. Even in Highever she had found them constraining, and while there was certainly something to being said to dressing up, she found herself chafing a little at the thought of leaving darkspawn to run free. 

She sat her Ferelden Forder with a practiced hand now, and the days of rest had let the creature recover from all the madness that had been the Wending Wood journey. For the first time in a long time, the Vigil seemed settled, and things actually appeared to be slowly going well.

Word had come via messenger from Soldier’s Peak that a Legion of the Dead was waiting for her in the Deep Roads, ready to explore the odd reports of fallen tunnels and darkspawn nests. She was glad as well for their company, and rode now with a spirit she had not felt in some time. 

Soon it would be the New Year. That, she hoped, would finally bring the promised peace she longed for.

Her Wardens, clad in their fur-lined cloaks and matching armor, rode at her back. Oghren was with her – Eideann had decided it best to keep him away from Felsi while she was staying in the inn at Vigil’s Keep – as were Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel and even Keenan. He was doing much better with his crossbow and determined to go along, and she had not the heart to ask him to stay behind with Lucan. Also riding the road with them for the time being was Zevran, clad in his new hat and cloak and riding at her side like he always used to.

“You never got me a present,” she teased him, calling over the snows with a soft laugh. He just grinned.

“I gave you that horse last year,” he reminded her from his own. “And I graced you with the gift of my presence this year. What more do you need, _bella_?” 

She was not eager to see him gone. She would miss him. It felt with his departure that things were well and truly changing. 

And yet she was no longer alone. Her Wardens were an eclectic lot, but they were her own, and each of them was, in their own way, growing on her. Velanna was still prickly and aloof, but since destroying his phylactery, Anders had taken to laughing more – genuinely rather than to hide. Something in Nathaniel had eased into a routine of worrying about her and berating her, but always in a way that was mindful of the new closeness between them. Oghren had even started to ween himself from drinking, though it was a slow process, and one she could not help him with. He still did drink, of course, but she had caught him smelling of soap the other day rather than liquor and she wondered if perhaps being a Warden might be the making of him yet. And Keenan had proven his loyalty with every breath, keeping close at hand and willing to provide advice whenever it was needed. 

No, this time she was not alone. And if her heart still ached for Alistair, or to see her brother in Highever, or if she missed her companions who had stood by her in the Blight, she was not lonely.

She watched Lucan racing alongside the horses and smiled, thinking wistfully of Angus, and hoping he was taking care of Alistair, who would be making his way up through the Bannorn by now.

It took several days to reach the Knotwood Hills. Eideann and her company dismounted at a small village where a smattering of small buildings with merrily burning fires were warding off the chill, and turned their horses over to a chilly looking stablehand who emerged from the nearest building with the offer to tend to their mounts in exchange for a few coppers. The nearest building turned out to be an inn, where they broke their fast and drank down piping hot lamb stew and warm tea to stave off the cold. Eideann considered her people, gathered before the fire, Zevran in hushed conversation with a rather solemn looking Oghren over a pint of ale, both of them smirking at memories shared as they carefully thawed out before the flames.

_At least,_ Eideann thought whimsically, _the lava keeps the Deep Roads warm._

And it was then that Zevran finally approached her, setting his hat on the table and giving her a flourishing bow. 

“ _Bella_ ,” was all he said. And the tears welled up in her eyes.

“If it wouldn’t get you killed, I would insist you write,” she told him in a catching voice, eyes blurring a little as she considered his face. His hand caught hers, and he planted a gentle kiss at the top of her knuckles, blinking back his own tears. Then he drew her from her seat, into some semblance of privacy away from the group.

“Eideann, my friend,” he said softly then. “I will never forget you. No matter how far my travels take me, you will be in my heart.” And then she did cry, blinking away the tears which he laughed to see even as he cried in return, and the whole thing became a giant blubbering mess until they were stood together, unable to let go, hands clasped and simply staring. 

And then he leaned in and planted the gentlest of kisses on her teary cheek, shaking his head.

“If this should be the last we speak, Eideann, I want you to know. Assassinating you was the luckiest thing that could have happened to me.” Eideann gave a teary laugh, bowing her head a little and bringing one hand up to her eyes. He caught it, drawing it away, holding them both as he met her eyes. “You are…the only friend I have, _bella_. A mad, crazy sort of friend who fights dragons and rules countries and drinks poison and takes snowy rides to battle frightening beasts, but still a friend.” His smile faded. “And I would not be the man I am without you, _bella_.” He reached with his hand to brush the tears from her cheeks, shaking his head with a soft tutting noise. “Crying does not suit you, you know.” She shook her head, then threw her arms about his neck and clung to him.

“I can’t let you go,” she sobbed into his shoulder. “Oh, Zevran, I can’t let you. And I must.” She felt his own shoulders shake as he drew a breath against her own shoulder, and he wrapped her into a warm embrace. “I must, and I hate it.” 

“As do I, _bella_ , but I will bring you trouble now. It is time I set things right as I should have done. It is time I laid my Rinna to rest, brought peace to Taliesen’s soul. And when it is done, I shall see you again, _bella_.” He drew back, meeting her gaze, tears on his own cheeks. “You are,” he said forcefully, “the bravest, most beautiful, and deadliest woman I have ever met. And you are the kindest, and the gentlest. I wish you happiness, my friend, you and Alistair both.” She bowed her head.

“What it cost us,” she breathed, looking away. “I don’t know how to ever bridge that gap again. The things we did, the choices we made…”

“A choice is simple. A life is not,” he told her softly, leaning to set his forehead against hers and closing his eyes a moment. “You chose to grant me mercy, and my life is yours. I chose to stay with you, and now you must live the life you have been given, Lady Eideann. In truth, _bella_ , for the chance to be by your side, I would storm the Black City itself. Never doubt it. And one day, I shall return.” He stepped back then, quiet and calm, and drew a deep breath. “I, Zevran Arainai, hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation, this I swear.” Eideann burst into more tears at that, and he watched her, waiting, blinking away his own. So at last she swallowed, forcing herself to stand taller.

“I, Queen Eideann Cousland-Theirin of Ferelden, accept your oath until such a time as I choose to release you from it,” she said softly. And he gave her a courtly bow before drawing away, giving the others a cursory nod, and then settling his hat on his head. And then there was the gust of cold air as he vanished into the swirling snows, gone. 

And it broke her. She slipped to her knees in a heap, hanging her head there before all her Wardens, sobbing so heavily her shoulders were shaking as she curled in on herself. 

Zevran was her rock, the brightness in the darkness of Amaranthine, and with him gone the cold and the chill hit her hard enough to turn her heart to stone. She wanted Alistair, and Fergus, and Wynne and Leliana. She wanted Shayle back, and even the sullen Sten. 

Her stomach ached, the hollowness that reminded her of prices paid, of all she might yet pay.

Warm hands found her, closed in tight, and she smelled the scent of pine and leather, and she turned into Nathaniel’s shoulder, clinging to his tunic and sobbing into the silk. He gathered her in his arms, enfolding her in warmth and lean muscles and a firm gasp. And she would never in a million years have thought she would be surrendering her sorrow to the arms of Rendon Howe’s son.

But this was Nathaniel, her ally, her friend, and she trusted him more than she trusted herself sometimes. 

“It isn’t an end,” he murmured into her hair, his breath hot against her ear as he bundled her into his arms. “Stories end. Lives just keep going on.” 

“Why does that make me so sad?” she breathed, quivering into him. He stroked his fingers through her short hair, shaking his head against the top of her own.

“Because it’s easier if it just ends,” he replied gently. “But you already knew that.”

“Get up, Warden,” came the gruff grunts of Oghren from the distance. “You soppy bronto-humper. You’ll make us all sob like sodding nuggets.” Eideann bowed her head into Nathaniel’s chest a little more, then carefully reached between them to wipe away her tears with the back of her hand and finally looked up to see them gathered in the inn common room, all of them, Lucan plonked down right at her side looking at her just like Angus might have done. She turned to put a hand into his soft fur, feeling the warmth of him, and then drew a deep, shaking breath. 

“I…I’m sorry.”

“Oh come off it,” Anders said simply from his spot gazing into the fire. He did not look back. “It’s nice sometimes when you act human. Takes the pressure off the rest of us.” Eideann quirked a slightly amused smile, then her gaze met Nathaniel’s calm Coastland grey Bryland eyes, all the knowing and all the gentle caring bundled up as one. She leaned into him again a moment, resting her head on her shoulder. 

“A moment more,” she whispered, and he tightened his arm about her again nodded and setting his chin against the top of her head. 

“So long as King Alistair doesn’t take offense,” he murmured back with the slightest of smiles. She gave a soft chuckle, unable to help it, and shook her head against his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she breathed, and he stayed there a moment longer.

“One day, Cousland, you’ll pay it back in kind. Assuming you don’t get me killed first.” She just nodded.

They departed the inn not long afterward, significantly warmer and one man short, and Eideann huddled in her cloak to mount her horse. The creature had borne her well over the last few years. 

“Zev,” she said softly, considering the horse. “Your name is Zev.” Since he had been the one to give her the animal anyway, and it had proved as reliable as him, even the face of darkspawn…

She gave a quiet smile to herself at it.

The ruins marked on her map by the two hunters in Amaranthine were not far from the North Road. She led her group south down a twisting bypass that was still mostly covered in snow, keeping herself at a slow pace so as to not founder Zev and the other horses. 

Her eyes skimmed the horizon, but she had a good hour’s journey before she would actually see it, at her best guess. So instead she thought of all the things that happened over the last few weeks, sighing to herself and wondering if she might ever be done with it all.

_Probably not,_ she thought after a moment, smiling at her own naivete. _You made yourself the Queen after all._

So she instead focused on what she knew of the darkspawn threat. She had some indication of a massive Thaig system beneath Amaranthine. The numbers of darkspawn that had fled northward after the Blight had given her some indication of that fact. She was aware that the Wending Wood had once connected to those thaigs, and that Soldier’s Peak was built into that system as well. There was almost a week’s worth of ground to cover between Soldier’s Peak and Denerim. A week’s worth of underground travel on flat terrain if she wanted to try measuring the Deep Roads in that regard. There could be entire lost cities under their feet now. 

She did not know nearly enough about dwarves. So she paused her horse to wait. Nathaniel almost paused beside her, but at her look he carried on, taking the lead, Anders following behind him in some sort of animated conversation about Maker only knew what. Velanna was after him, expression sullen, eyes suspicious, listening to the sounds of Anders and the wind. And then came Oghren, behind him Keenan bringing up the rear. Eideann slipped in beside Oghren, and he glanced up at her from his pony, eyes narrowed.

“Looking for company?” he grumbled. She shook her head.

“I wanted to know if you had ever heard any talk of what lay beyond Cadash Thaig.” He sighed, turning his face ahead and pressing his lips together in a grim look to think.

“Sod it, Warden, they’ve been lost so long we don’t know what is under here. The Deep Roads don’t just go out, they go up and down. Distances…they’re not the same up here.” Eideann nodded, considering, then wet her lips.

“Larger thaigs then? Nothing at all in the Memories?” 

“The Memories can hardly remember themselves some days,” he grunted, swaying a little atop his pony. “But they say before the Blights came, the south was where the smiths and craftsmen worked. Amgarrak, the Anvil of the Void, Ortan Thaig’s smith castes, even Orzammar itself. The south was the backbone of dwarven creations and inventions. That’s…all I can tell you.”

“So we should expect more forges?” she said in a low mutter. He shook his head with a laugh.

“You have your own forge. Every city has a good smith, Warden.” Then he grimaced. “Maybe…maybe the old crafting center is somewhere under here. I don’t know.” That was the best she was going to get, so she thanked him and then drew a breath, glancing up towards the clouded sky. It was silky and grey and pillowy above them, and she shook her head, considering the shapes in the clouds.

“Do you think,” she finally said, hearing Keenan come up along her other side with Lucan bounding through the undisturbed snows just off the road, “that this Architect could have been involved in the Blight? It doesn’t hear the Song, and those it liberates are free, so why is it suddenly here? How did it know to come here? And what is it doing.” 

“There has been no word from First Enchanter Fiona?” Keenan asked quietly. Eideann shook her head glumly. Oghren spat over the side of his pony and snarled.

“I don’t like it. Nug-humping Duster can take his darkspawn thinking plan and shove it up his arse, Commander.” 

“Charming to have you along, as you usual, Oghren.” He just smirked at her and she sighed, giving him a smile back. “My main concern is what even is he? _Why_ doesn’t this Architect hear the Blight?” Keenan grimaced, then shook his head. Eideann had no answers either.

“I don’t really want to find out,” Oghren replied grumply.

“There!” came the call from ahead, and Eideann nudged Zev into a trot to join Nathaniel at the head of the column. He pointed it out to her on the horizon, a great maw of darkness opening up in the land. “That’s the place, right?” he asked, and she nodded, determined now. He nodded to himself in return. “We should reach it in half an hour,” he told her, adjusting his hands in his gloves. “Let’s hope it isn’t crawling with darkspawn we cannot sense.”

“I’m getting very tired of this not being able to sense darkspawn thing,” Eideann sighed, and Keenan gave a quiet chuckle behind her.

“Remember when it was the other way around?” he asked softly, bringing his horse up alongside her. She gave him a warm smile. Lucan at his side dashed forward, plowing through the snow and tossing it up about the grounds, and Eideann sighed.

“A hare?” she assumed, but nudged Zev onward towards the giant gaping crack in the earth. “Be careful here, everyone. I think the Blighted Deep Roads underneath are opening sinkholes.” Oghren gave a low grunt, and Keenan considered the trees. 

“There’s certainly enough blighted looking fauna,” he replied. Eideann nodded. 

“The Wilds looked like that when the horde passed through. Gnarled and twisted and dead. The whole place is named for them. Whatever is underneath Amaranthine has been carrying the Blight for a long time.” He nodded, gave a sharp whistle, and brought Lucan back to his side.

They went carefully from there-on-out, creeping along the road towards the chasm. All said and done, they came upon it rather suddenly when at last they reached the edge. It loomed before them, deep and grim, dwarven columns exposed to the sunlight, great gnarled roots of twisted Knotwoods shattering through the Deep Roads itself. It looked like something had shifted the earth, brought the entire thing heaving upwards like a great breath. Eideann grimaced, considering it, then slipped from Zev.

They found a small sheltered area in a copse of Knotwoods along the crevasse at a safe enough distance to leave the horses. Eideann went with Nathaniel to consider the way forward, the two Coastland rangers. The others stood, waiting, nervous in the face of such a gaping catastrophe. This was more than just a collapse. Something had brought those tunnels down long ago. The exposure alone was the only thing she could explain. 

They were not too far though from the North Road. It made her uncomfortable to think that even in a country the size of Ferelden there were many things that could lie dormant and undiscovered. How many of them were linked to the darkspawn? How many were relics of long-vanished times? 

There were no darkspawn in the immediate entrance, only a swarm of Deepstalkers which Eideann dispatched with a swift movement. Her arm had recovered now from the Architect’s cut in the Silverite Mines, and she had regained her speed. Even the old ache from the Archdemon had finally mended properly. If it was sore from the cold, at least it still moved with grace. One day, that wound might cause her to slow, but for now she was capable of continuing on. 

With the Deepstalkers dead she gave a whistle up to Keenan and the others to bring the horses down. At the lip of the chasm they took shelter in the space between the crumbling dwarven columns and stone, a place with a little shelter against the elements where the horses might be better served. Eideann corralled them in a little where they would not be unnoticed. She did not intend to be there so very long. 

She definitely did not want to be gone days like the last time she had travelled to the Deep Roads. She had no need to cross all of Ferelden yet, and the scents rising from the pits below spoke of darkspawn somewhere close.

“A nest,” Keenan confirmed her suspicions. His eyes were cool and quiet. “They’ll be on the defensive here.” 

“We will break the line,” Eideann said simply, readying her blades and checking her pack for supplies. “We took Bownammar back, right Oghren?” He gave a gruff reply, eyes shining cruelly.

“Bring me the Blighters. I’ll kick em in the stones,” he grumbled, and then stalked off towards the steps. Nathaniel sighed, then went after him to at least head off their only means of surprise.

The chasm had been built over, recently in fact. There were wooden bridges built to span the gap, barely dusted with a slick coating of snow. 

“Someone’s been here,” Nathaniel said, rather unnecessarily.

“Treasure hunters,” Keenan said, testing the bridge carefully. His boots slid on the damp planks that made up the crossing. It had been throw up in a hurry before the snows, and never meant to last a long time.

“Well, I’m sure when we find them they’ll have red eyes and rotting teeth and be losing all their hair,” Eideann said with a low hiss, inching her way onto the bridge and testing it. It creaked horribly under her steps. She glanced back. “Velanna? Anything you can do?” The elf pursed her lips, then gave her right hand a flourish at the wrist. Some of the planks shifted, moved, sliding into place together until the bridge was neater, and a few handholds provided a way to keep balance. But the entire thing was still frightening enough. 

Eideann sighed, then stepped on the wood again, hands on the rough planks just in case, and then carefully made her way across.

“I fell down a flight of stairs once,” Nathaniel said nervously behind her. “They looked an awful lot like this.” 

The other side of the chasm led down into the channel itself, exposed Deep Road tunnels vanishing both directions. Eideann reached for her blades, drawing them and stepping down first, and she heard Nathaniel’s bowstring creak at her shoulder. She descended the steps, wooden like the bridge, down carefully. These were wedged in place a bit better, more likely to hold even though they stayed slippery. Eideann took them one at a time, until at last her boots touched the carved stone paths of the Deep Roads. 

“Nothing,” she said after a moment, listening.

“Is the Legion meeting us?” Oghren asked gruffly, stepping down beside her, wheezing a little from the steep steps they had taken, suffering for the length of his dwarven legs.

“With luck. Assuming they made it this far.” Oghren sniffed, then stalked forward, taking the front line. Eideann followed, since hers was the swordplay with Keenan relegated to a crossbow. 

After a few hundred paces, the road sloped steeply downward, back into the center of the earth. Whatever cataclysm had jolted it upward had left the tunnels beyond untouched. 

The stench was worse there. And she could feel something, faintly, deep within, further down. She drew a deep breath, glancing back a moment, and Keenan met her gaze. 

“Darkspawn,” he said, looking grimly satisfied. She knew the feeling. At least they knew. 

But where then was the Architect? 

And then she heard it, a grunt, a roar. Oghren did not wait. He charged forward, and Eideann took off running after him, feet pounding on the stone floor. 

“Oghren!” she called, swords in hand, but he was charging, lost to the battlerage, and then a woman’s scream split the air. Eideann gritted her teeth, put on an extra burst of speed, and joined Oghren at the front, skidding around the first corner into the corridors hidden from the shining winter light by the overhang of the edge of the sinkhole.

There was a party of darkspawn there, battling a dwarven woman in Legionnaire black armor. She kicked and then tried to run but was hauled from her feet, knocked to the ground by a hurlock and then dragged by her ankle. She desperately twisted trying to reach for her knife, then for her fallen axe, and then finally trying to kick again. Eideann did not wait.

“Keenan! Nate!” she called, and then whipped her own knife, Duncan’s once, from her belt, hurling it end over end at the hurlock. It caught the creature’s arm, causing it to roar and drop the dwarf. And then Oghren was on them, tearing through their ranks with a loud battlecry, all berserker glory in a flurry of death and blood. 

Eideann got herself over the dwarven woman, putting herself between the Legionnaire and the darkspawn blades that came hurtling past Oghren. She smelled the rancor of the breath as the hurlock met her swing.

But this hurlock…this one she could feel. A real darkspawn. A normal darkspawn. She gave a roar and then spun, blades cutting arcs through the air. And then she took off his head.

Two arrows in quick succession brought down the next, and then the final one thudded with a crossbow bolt to the neck. The final two burst into flames and screamed, that horrible darkspawn scream. 

And then the Song went silent, the taint in her head disappeared, and she let out a breath, turning back, and sheathing her swords at her back. 

The dwarf struggled to pull off her helmet, fighting against an injured rib that she was favoring. And then the helmet came free, clattered to the ground, and Eideann almost laugh. Instead, she gave a sigh of relief.

“Sigrun,” she breathed. The woman met her gaze with bright eyes, then cracked a grin, shaking her head.

“Warden,” she greeted merrily enough.

“Is it Kardol’s Legion sent to meet us?” The dwarf rogue’s smile slipped a little.

“No. But I’m glad. Because there’s not much left of the Legion, Warden.” Eideann drew a breath, glancing down into the Deep Roads beyond over the darkspawn corpses. 

“What is going on?” Keenan asked as the rest of them caught up, closing the distance. Sigrun took stock a moment, then crossed her arms, wincing at her side. Eideann motioned to Anders, who immediately stepped forward and pulled Sigrun’s arm from her side, pouring a wave of mage unexpectedly into the dwarf woman. Sigrun gave a yelp of surprised, then winced at the pain and squeezed her blue eyes shut a moment against the shock of the healing magic.

“Broken rib,” Anders said. “Hold still.” Sigrun sniffed.

“I’m already dead,” she said simply. But then her gaze went back to Eideann. “Warden, down there…that’s the old fortress of Kal’Hirol.” Oghren gave a low whistle, then a dirty chuckle. Sigrun made a face and then grimaced. “There’s something going on there. I think the darkspawn are breeding an army.” She shook her head. “When word reached our outpost under Soldier’s Peak, the Legion came to investigate, but Kal’Hirol proved…too much for us. It was a massacre.” Eideann froze, considering that, and Keenan behind her gave a low curse, turning his back a moment to work out a new plan. Sigrun watched her warily. “I’m…the only one left,” she said quietly. 

Eideann’s mind hardened to a single point. She pursed her lips, reaching again for her swords and sliding them slowly from their sheathes. 

“These darkspawn,” she said simply, “must be eradicated.”

“Like we did at Bownammar with an Archdemon on the sodding bridge, right, Warden?” Ogrhen grinned, but there was a flinty darkness in his eyes. The true horrors of Bownammar had been what remained of Branka’s house. Eideann just gave a solem nod.

Anders’ spell ceased and Sigrun blinked, then slowly tested her arm. 

“That’s what we thought,” she said, twisting a little to test the injury, then sighing in relief. “Oh, we’ll just run in there, eradicate the darkspawn, and be back in time for supper.” There was a bitterness underneath the chipper exterior. Her smile was false beneath the mask of tattoos. Her entire Legion was still somewhere in the Deep Roads behind her. “Well…woops.” She hung her head a little a moment, then glanced up, her eyes flinty. “The darkspawn have changed. They’re smart now. They destroyed the Legion.” She turned her face away. “I saw them taking some of the women and…I wasn’t about to stick around for that.” Eideann took a step down the Deep Roads, considering the corridor. There really was nothing for it. She could not leave a darkspawn nest under Amaranthine, so close to Soldier’s Peak, so close to the Vigil, so close the North Road, so close to Denerim and Highever. She could not let this go on knowing it was there. And the Legion had died because she had summoned them there. Maker, that would be a price to pay later.

She bit her lower lip a moment, a little too hard because she tasted blood, and then she sighed. 

“Then we go,” she finally said. “We find out if there are any left, and we go and end these darkspawn. I am the Warden-Commander. I will not run away.”

“Yes!” Oghren chortled. Eideann ignored him. Sigrun shook her head.

“What?” she said flatly. “Really? Did I mention Kal’Hirol was a deathtrap?” 

“We will die in the Deep Roads one way or another, Legionnaire,” Keenan said quietly, Lucan seated at his side panting, blood on his muzzle from perusing the darkspawn. Sigrun nodded, giving a sigh.

“Fine, then we shouldn’t waste time,” she at last replied. “This won’t be like Cadash, Warden. This will be a bloody slaughter, either us or them.” Eideann quirked a slight smile at her raising an eyebrow.

“Between the two of us, we’re already dead,” she replied simply. Then she glanced back. “Oghren, you’re at the front. Keenan, at my back so Lucan can get through. Nate, Velanna, the rear.” She glanced to Anders. “And you stay safe wherever you can. Keep us on our feet as long as you can, Anders.” He gave her a grim nod, so she turned back to Sigrun. “Ready?” Sigrun gave a quiet, determined nod.

“Wish you had your golem friend,” she said simply as they made their way towards the steps where the Deep Roads descended into the darkness. 

“Me too,” Eideann told her softly at her side, and then Velanna’s magic flared to light the way forward.

They did not need to go far. The entire Deep Roads sloped downward, steps to the older parts of the empire deep below. The evidence of darkspawn was everywhere. They wound downward, back around, until Eideann was sure they were descending deep below the Fereval Plains. That made her very nervous. An entire Thaig beneath the area would lead to problems, particularly as a nest. 

For awhile they walked, crossing oozing puddles of darkspawn grime and filth, the remnants of broodmother feasts that Eideann refused to put a name to when Anders asked what it was. Instead, she chanced a look to Oghren, and his eyes were shaded and cold. Lucan plodding alongside Keenan gave a whine. 

“What do we know of Kal’Hirol?” Eideann asked, glancing between Oghren and Sigrun, since they were the most likely to know. Oghren just gave a sniff, too wrapped up in his own torment to reply. She saw him reach for his flask, swig some of the fiery liquid down, and then make a face like it would not settle. 

“This stuff,” he said with disgust, staring at the darkspawn grime, “looks like Felsi’s First Day festival stew. The girl has her strengths, but cooking is not one of them.”

Eideann gave him a dark look, shaking her head, and he just met her eyes back, looking very tired. Sigrun beside her sighed, giving a small shrug. So much had been lost, it seemed.

“I don’t know much about Kal’Hirol,” the Legionnaire replied softly, “except what the others in the Legion told me.” She directed them down a broken pathway, slick with darkspawn grime. It squelched beneath their feet, and Eideann pushed away a wave of sickness at the thought. About them, monuments built to the Old Gods and morphed by the Blights rose from the muck, torches and fires flickering. The darkspawn and their fires.

And then the space opened up. Light shone from somewhere above, like cracks in the earth had filtered it through, and illuminated the giant cavern. Instead of a wall that blocked the Deep Roads, Kal’Hirol was an honest fortress, rising in the center, a monument to all the dwarves had lost. The road that once led to its grand gates lay shattered and ruined, collapsed by a darkspawn siege or else by defensive forces that fell when at last Kal’Hirol was taken. Eideann stared, and Anders gave a low whistle.

“It used to be important,” Sigrun said, careful her voice did not carry, “a center of learning for the Smith Caste.” Her eyes were narrow as she considered the shattered walkways and ancient, abandoned ruins. 

Eideann felt the pang of nerves. This was no mere fortress. This was like finding Andraste’s Ashes. The significance of the wisdom lost in those halls…

And it was right there, exposed to the air, a mere fifteen minutes walk from the surface under the hills. And that was significantly worse. Because for all its hidden treasures, Kal’Hirol was large enough to house a mass of broodmothers, and that meant Kal’Hirol was large enough to brew a horde to rival that which had descended on Ferelden in the Blight. 

She shuddered. Sigrun’s eyes slipped to her in the semi-darkness, her expression grim beneath her tattoos.

“When the fortress was lost,” she said, “a lot of what the smiths had learned was lost with it. They’ve never built anything quite like Kal’Hirol since.”

“And the darkspawn?” Nathaniel said quietly, peering into the cavern. Eideann shook her head. These at least she could sense. And even that was no longer a fair estimate. She was unwilling to rely on it.

“Everywhere. When we go down there, we will be fighting for our lives.” She turned to consider her Wardens then, eyes serious. “The Legion of the Dead are not pushovers. They throw themselves into the fight. A Warden is worth an army, but the Legion has long recognized the sacrifice of Wardens, and willingly made that sacrifice beside us, and we should take their defeat as a significant warning. That said, we can’t leave this nest intact. It threatens all of Amaranthine. All it would take is a single band roaming to the surface. It’s just up that path we walked from. We can’t let that happen.” Her people looked back at her, eyes solemn and clear, some a little frightened. Eideann twisted her sword in her grip, gritting her teeth. “I need every single one of you down there.” 

“We’re with you, Commander,” Keenan said softly, and that perked the others up. Oghren met her gaze like rage itself.

“Let’s give the Blighters what for,” he snarled, rolling his shoulders under his heavy armor.

They descended slowly from the road then to the cavern floor below. Great arches from the shattered road towered over their heads as they walked, or sloped away, half submerged in pools of murky water that looked like it too was filth-ridden. 

Sigrun led the way, moving silently and carefully. Eideann kept her mind on the darkspawn up ahead.

“Wait…please…” The voice made her start, and she turned abruptly to see a dwarf lying in the shadow at the base of the road arches, shaking in a pool of his own blood. He had a trickle of it from his mouth seeping into his dark beard. Sigrun hurried to his side.

“It’s Jukka,” the Legionnaire said, on her knees beside the man and gathering him up into a sitting position as best she could. The tattoos across his face were dark creases in the night. “He’s hurt. Bad.” Anders beside her tried a spell, but then stepped back, meeting Eideann’s eyes somberly.

“I can’t…” he said quietly. “It’s too late.” Sigrun glared at him, then back at Jukka, who caught her hand with his bloodied gauntlet. 

“S…Sigrun…” he gasped. She shifted her arms about him.

“Be still,” she breathed. “Try not to talk.” He shook his head.

“No,” Jukka said with effort. “I feel…my death…upon me.” He heaved forward a little, shuddering, and Sigrun had to catch him a little. His eyes met hers in the dimness of the cavern. “And it is a…sweet release.” She shook her head, desperately. 

“No!” she said, twisting for the satchel at her belt. “I have bandages! I can help!” He just sighed, closing his eyes, and Eideann felt a pang of sorrow.

“You must…listen…” he insisted. Eideann reached to put a hand on Sigrun’s shoulder, and the dwarf paused, looking at her desperately. Eideann shook her head quietly, then crouched down beside the Legionnaires. He met her gaze with his own painful stare, heaving for each breath through battered armor. “The Broodmothers. They’re…breeding an army. You _must_ …stop them.” Eideann was solemn. He shook his head. “No…be…beware…the Children.” Eideann’s eyes narrowed. “They are…abominations. Even among…darkspawn.” His eyes were fading, going glassy. He gave a cough, blood splattering into the pool beneath him. Eideann reached for her knife, and his eyes were thankful as she ended his suffering. Sigrun, staring with sorrow and anguish, let him slip from her arms.

“Ancestors look kindly on you, brother,” she murmured, bowing her head a little. Eideann drew back, knife still blooded in her hand. And then Sigrun rose, clenching her fists at her sides.

“We have to finish what the Legion started,” she said fiercly, her face set like stone. “Those Broodmothers need to be destroyed.” Eideann nodded in agreement. 

More than one. 

Her mind tracked to Laryn and she bit her tongue a little to bring her thoughts back. Beside her, Oghren’s look was garnished with hate and rage.

“Velanna,” Eideann called softly. “Bury him…?” It was a request, not an order, and Velanna heard it, pondering it quietly. And then she carefully reached for magic, and the earth drew upwards to swallow Jukka whole. Eideann turned away then, considering the fortress ahead.

“How many Broodmothers do you think, Keenan?” she asked quietly. He was silent a moment, then sighed.

“Hard to tell, there’s so many things. We’ll work it out as we draw closer, I suspect. Nasty things.” 

“We will end them quickly,” Eideann said simply. “They were dwarves once.” Sigrun was watching her with flinty eyes. Oghren no longer even did that. Instead, he took off on his own towards the far wall where the slope of the cavern made it possible to climb to the top of the roads that led up to the keep.

Most of the darkspawn were within the fortress itself, but Eideann felt a few scattered about nearby, and motioned to her team to take up position. Most of them, Eideann realized, were genlocks, not the hurlocks she had seen in the Wending Wood. 

She and her Wardens made quick work of them, though Anders looked a little queasy when it was done, and Nathaniel had a strange set to his jaw like he was grinding his teeth to avoid speaking up about something. 

“Dwarven Broodmothers,” Eideann said, nudging the corpse of one of the slain genlocks. “Heavy hitters.” Lucan circled the corpses a moment, then gave a low whine, looking up to the gates. And then he let out a sharp bark. Eideann followed his gaze to the top, and then narrowed her eyes.

“What is it?” Anders said warily.

“We shall find out,” Eideann replied, and then slowly began to climb the sloping trail that led to the fortress gates. The remnants of ancient houses littered the walks, some half-flooded in the filth of the rains. Paragon statues that lined the battlements were cracked or splintering.

“This was their Dust Town,” Sigrun said after a moment. They were still outside the fortress gates, and the path that led upwards, the alternative to the road, certainly seemed like the path in Orzammar that slipped down into the depths of Dust Town. Eideann considered that a moment, then pursed her lips.

She wondered if every Thaig had such a place, or only the larger ones. She did not recall seeing any obvious distinction in houses between the areas of Ortan Thaig, or even in Bownammar, but those were different cases, perhaps. She took the last of the steps carefully, sensing a change in Sigrun as she slipped up the final slope to the main road.

“The Legion got this far with no trouble,” the Legionnaire finally said as they approached the first gate. Great chains held the walls aloft on either side of the ruined road. Within, beyond the door, a massive staircase led to the true doors. The position was defensible, more defensible than Eideann had seen recently, and scared her. How could they ever hope to breach that defense? 

Worse still, the courtyard before the steps was littered with the fallen corpses of the Legion of the Dead. Some had been dragged away, and littered among them were darkspawn corpses. Around the courtyard, emerging from the slime, were nodules like she had seen in Bownammar, fleshy pockets and growths that made her feel a little sick. Except there was something different about these. They were angular, all pointing upwards, and cast like caccoons about the courtyard, like they were lying in wait.

“What in the Maker’s name are those?” Anders asked pointedly. Eideann had no answer. Sigrun grimaced. Even Keenan could not tell them, shaking his head when Eideann glanced back to him.

“Something to beware of,” she replied softly. 

There did not appear to be darkspawn in the courtyard. She could sense them all further up and in. So she carefully paused at the first gate and narrowed her eyes, considering the steps.

“We got careless and complacent,” Sigrun said, joining her, the handles of her dwarven war-axes clasped tightly in each of her hands. “We tried to storm the front gates up those stairs. It was a disaster. The darkspawn were waiting. They turned the thaig’s old defenses against us. They’ve never…they’ve never done that before.” Eideann caught the caution in her voice and nodded.

“Let’s not repeat that mistake,” she said softly. Sigrun nodded.

“We need to learn from the Legion’s mistake,” she agreed. “Avoid the main door.” Eideann shifted her weight to her other foot. 

“Is there another way in?” she asked, “At Bownammar you met us outside the main gate and we could access the gatehouse. Is that normal for dwarven engineering?” Sigrun nodded, flexing her fingers about her weapons again and glancing to Eideann.

“Most of the old fortresses had hidden side entrances,” she confirmed. “I bet this one does too. We just need to find it.” Eideann nodded, then gritted her teeth.

“So be it. The same plan as before then.” Sigrun gave a slight smile, shadowed by the presence of the corpses of her fallen fellows.

“I don’t suppose you brought any more of those contraptions of yours…fire bombs and such, Commander?” Eideann glanced back towards Anders and Velanna.

“This time I brought something better,” she said instead. And then she carefully stepped into the courtyard, wary. “Those darkspawn…were they killed by the Legion?” Sigrun followed her gaze and then narrowed her eyes. 

“No. They came afterward. The darkspawn used the thaig’s defenses. The Legion was killed from within.” Eideann shook her head.

“Then what killed those darkspawn?” she asked, and her gaze flickered back to Keenan. At his side, Lucan had his hackles up, snarling. A bad sign. Eideann shifted her stance a little, tightening her grip on Duty and King’s Justice. 

And then the nearby nodules of fleshy filth wriggled, twisting upwards, until they suddenly burst. From the top, a creature like an insect or a grub squeezed itself out to flop down to the earth, sharp teeth glistening. 

And it reeked of darkspawn. Eideann stared, and then about them all the pustules were busting open, and more of the monsters were bubbling forth, squirming to the surface.

“What,” Keenan said behind her, incredulously, “in the Maker’s name are _those_?!”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann and the Grey Wardens are forced to retreat and rethink their strategy; Eideann leads her group into the fortress of Kal'Hirol and learns how the fortress fell to the darkspawn; Keenan, Velanna, and Oghren deal with the darkspawn in the Deep Roads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence
> 
> Comments always welcome.

They were grubs, giant worms that slipped from the cacoons and plopped onto the cavern floor, then wriggled towards them. The creatures had too many eyes, sickly grey skin like the darkspawn, and the beginnings of claws that scuttled across the stone. Eideann could not wait. She stepped forward, swinging her blade and skewering the first, and it died with a squeal. 

“Don’t let them touch you!” she called, dancing about the other creatures as they reared up with snapping jaws to snare her. She stepped out of their reach.

There were too many. Sigrun went down, dragged down as one caught its claws on her armor and hauled her to the earth. Eideann’s blades arced, carving a path through it, and then she hauled Sigrun to her feet, forcing her back towards the gates.

“Go!” She called, as more burst forth, trying to take stock. “Get back down the slopes!” 

They did not need telling twice.

Lucan and Keenan took the front, battering back the creatures, almost as large as a man, and cutting a path through them with Keenan’s crossbow and Lucan’s teeth. And then they were fleeing down towards DustTown.

“Velanna! Fire! Now!” Eideann cried, and the mage whipped about from her spot just ahead. Magic crackled, arching over them, and blossomed into flames that blocked the path, sweeping the stone and catching the darkspawn filth alight as though it were grease. 

“Go!” Keenan was saying, pausing now as the others ran past. “Go! That way!” He was pointing back down the fortress path through DustTown, and his eyes were cold.

They took shelter at last, using what time the flames had given them, inside one of the derelict houses of DustTown. Lucan set his snarl to growling as Keenan and Nathaniel worked to barricade the door. Anders was checking over Sigrun, who was wincing at claw marks down her neck, jagged bites across her flesh. Eideann gritted her teeth.

“What in the Void are those things?!” Velanna said fiercely, heaving for breath from running. Eideann gritted her teeth.

“Darkspawn,” she replied gruffly, checking the location was secure. It was only two rooms, practically a hovel, and ancient, meaning it was full of dust for them to disturb. But it was safe enough for the time being. She sank into a seat against a stone table that had withstood the test of time and set her blades on top of the surface so she could cross her arms. “The Children, like Jukka said.” 

“I have never seen such darkspawn before,” Sigrun said with a little weariness. 

“Why,” Anders demanded, “would be suddenly be seeing new forms of darkspawn? This isn’t even a Blight.” There was a quiet a moment, and then Oghren, hunched over his axe with a brooding stare, glared up.

“Broodmothers. Last time we saw new darkspawn, it was ogres.” His gaze solidified on Eideann’s, and she gritted her teeth. “You know what Broodmother’s are, Commander.”

“What is this then?” Velanna demanded. “What are you talking about.”

“Broodmothers of different races – human, elven, dwarven – are captured and become the new spawning points of the darkspawn,” Sigrun said simply. “Hurlocks from humans, shrieks from elves, genlocks from dwarves.” 

“And so these are?” 

“Bugs?” Anders suggested, his look one of distaste. 

“Well they will still burn if we can set them afire,” Eideann said softly, “and they die, though they’re nasty in a swarm. We’ll just need to be careful. We will see them again.” Keenan, quietly standing with his back against the metal door, grimaced.

“Darkspawn are birthed from broodmothers in a near larval stage. They consume ghouls and even one another to grow. As they do, they take form. Within a few months they are fully grown and wielding weapons. But these…I’ve never seen anything like those cacoons. They’re…insectoid.” Eideann shook her head.

“What would even cause that?” Sigrun asked softly, voicing what they were all thinking. 

“The Architect’s sentient darkspawn are all hurlocks,” Eideann said softly. “But these are different. I don’t understand what is going on here.” She looked up and they were all considering her then like she had admitted something foolish. She sighed, then glanced to Sigrun and Oghren. “You two, tell me everything you know about the old ways into the ancient fortresses. If the others all have secret entrances, this one will too somewhere. We just have to find it. That will carry us beyond their line, and once we are beyond it, we won’t be fighting with our backs to the wall anymore. We’ll be inside the trap line, and behind theirs. At least…their first line. Who knows how many we might find within.” The shudder that earned from Velanna was visible.

“Do you think they are related to the Architect?” she said. “Do you think Seranni could be here?” Eideann shook her head because she did not know.

“I thought they were connected,” she said softly, “but now that we’re here, I’m not convinced they are, and that makes this bigger than I realized.” She glanced to Sigrun who gave her a pondering look. Oghren gave a sniff, stroking his mustachios a little and hoisting his battleaxe up into his hands. 

“Old fort entrances may have been sealed off. If there is one, it’s back above where those sodding bug things are,” he told her gruffly. Eideann shook her head.

“That can’t be the only place,” she said softly. “It wouldn’t make sense to have an entrance right beside the front door. There’s no tactical efficiency for that.” That much at least was true, though whether the dwarves who had built the place had agreed with that assessment was an entirely different thing. 

“No,” Sigrun said simply. “This is not Orzammar. We’re in their DustTown.” Eideann narrowed her gaze a little. “Think of it like the whole cavern is Orzammar, and the fortress is like the palace. Maybe there’s only two doors into the palace, and it doesn’t make much sense, but down here is DustTown, and I bet you anything…” 

“Carta.” It was Nathaniel who said it, surprising them all, and Eideann glanced to him before he gave a small shrug. “They’re all over Kirkwall and the Free Marches right now,” he explained.

“We brought down the Carta in Orzammar,” Eideann said slowly, thinking it through. “But it stands to reason such smuggling empires have existed as long as the dwarven Caste system itself.” 

“Especially here,” Sigrun said simply, “so close to the surface and the seat of dwarven engineering. Why _wouldn’t_ there be a criminal empire down in this DustTown.” She had a dark look, somber. Eideann considered the casteless brand on Sigrun’s cheek and nodded. This was a woman speaking from experience. “And,” Sigrun added, “all good Carta outfits have back doors.” 

“So you’re saying – ” Keenan added musingly. Sigrun gave a grim smile and a nod.

“What we’re looking for is a way in from DustTown.” 

“Right,” Anders said in a low grumble. “But we’re still stuck here while those creatures are out there.” Eideann shook her head, eyes slipping to Velanna.

“Fire worked last time. We need two groups.”

“The one that stays is mine, Commander,” Keenan said simply, Lucan panting at his heel. “Leave me Velanna and Oghren. If things get very bad, you’ll want Anders with you. We can retreat back up the tunnels if need be.”

“I hate the Deep Roads,” Anders said in a low hiss, and Eideann drew a breath, giving a confident nod before glancing to Velanna.

“Can you do it? Set this place aflame?” 

“And bury it in rock if I need to,” Velanna replied curtly. “No guarantee I can do that within the fortress itself. Let me hit them hard here, Commander. But…if you see any sign of Seranni…” 

“I’ll let you know,” Eideann replied simply, though had little hope of that. Then she glanced to the others. Sigrun the Legionnaire scout, Nathaniel Howe the Coastland ranger, herself, and Anders the Spirit Healer who was very good at escaping prisons. A team built for speed and quiet infiltration then. She glanced back to Keenan. “If it looks like things are going sour, you bring down the entrance, Keenan. Close them in. This is a nest, and I don’t want those creatures getting to the surface. The damage they could do…” He gave a solemn nod, then rolled his shoulders, glancing to his team.

“Well then,” he said simply, and Oghren and Velanna glared back, eyes a matching set of smoldering flames of anger between them. 

“We’ll clear a path, Commander,” Oghren said simply, and then hefted his battleaxe again and moved for the door. Eideann gave Keenan a final nod, and then watched as half her team slipped back into the ancient cavern through the metal door. 

It was quiet for a moment, and Eideann kept her hand pressed to the doorway to listen, to feel for vibrations. And then she glanced to Sigrun.

“Best guess where would the tunnel be?” she asked, and Sigrun grinned. 

“Follow me, Commander. In a place known for smithing, there’s only one place it _could_ be.” 

The sound of explosions almost took them off guard, a rumbling as the cavern about them shook with collapsing rockfalls as Velanna let loose with the forces of mana and rage. Sigrun listened, intrigued, and Eideann waited. 

The shrieks and roars of darkspawn echoed across the cavern, the sounds of battle, Oghren screaming some battlecry. But all that was distant, drawing away. Eideann, gritting her teeth, swung the door open on rusted hinges and stepped out to meet any darkspawn who were there.

There were only two in range, and she did not need to silence either. Nathaniel brought them down in quick succession, then is Coastland grey gaze slipped to her and he gave a nod. 

“Lead on, Sigrun,” Eideann said softly, and the dwarf slipped past her and down the embankment. 

Kal’Hirol’s DustTown seemed to stretch for ages, and part of it was submerged by the water that had flooded the cavern over the years. The other part stood at odd angles caused by the shifting of the stone about them, and their footing was difficult as they crept along the tilted stone and earthen paths that led in a circle around the fortress base. There were a few darkspawn here and there, which they silenced as quickly as possible, but the way was mostly abandoned. Whatever the darkspawn wanted in Kal’Hirol, it had nothing to do with DustTown. 

Sigrun had sure feet and a quick glare as she picked her way through the bones of the derelict city, just as she would have done were they in Orzammar instead. Eideann wondered at her story, not for the first time, trying to figure out how the woman had ended up in the Legion. She was glad that Sigrun _had_ , of course, but she had not spent much time in DustTown during her visit to Orzammar. Zevran and Morrigan had handled the Carta while she slept the morning away. Eideann was left with very little experience outside the Legion itself of casteless dwarves, and even the Legion was no real precedent for the casteless in Orzammar. Of those, she had spent her time with Sigrun the longest.

But she did remember the way the woman had crawled over Cadash Thaig and scoured the place of darkspawn before announcing it clear. She did remember the massive scale of buildings they had picked their way through. And she remembered also that Sigrun was the one who had called Shayle sister and thanked her for her sacrifice in the First Blight. Eideann had a deep seated respect for Sigrun, and her capabilities were nothing to scoff at. It didn’t matter what the life was before, the Sigrun she knew was hard-working and diligent and dedicated in all she did. 

They made their way towards a row of what appeared to be more houses, but Sigrun assured them they had in fact reached the market. How she could tell, Eideann was not sure, as all the buildings looked much the same. There was no time for a discussion into the particulars, so Eideann took her word for it, and followed her along the dusty lane through the cave system that was lined with more of the common crumbling houses with the metal doors. 

“This is it,” Sigrun finally announced, pushing her way cautiously inside one of the buildings, and they quickly learned that they had in fact been led directly to a small forge. 

“Don’t you think the smith caste would have been annoyed to see this?” Eideann said softly, considering the cold forge and the glimmering anvil with the make-shift equipment.

“Keep these sorts of things secret,” Sigrun replied simply. “They’re hardly going to make things for us. Casteless make do with what they can get themselves.” She took a tour of the walls until at last she found what she was looking for. “The one in the Armorer’s shop Beraht used to own was similar,” she explained as she worked. “Glad to know the mechanism hasn’t much changed.” She took a step back and then kicked at the wall sharply, and it groaned on aching joints before swinging inward a few inches, scraping on the stone floor. The sound echoed. Anders winced behind them.

“Well, if they didn’t know we were here before,” he said simply. Eideann shook her head.

“They’re a far distance off now,” she replied, sensing the darkspawn at the opposite end of Kal’Hirol. Keenan had led them back towards the Deep Roads entrance that had been blocked off by the fallen stones. There had to be more, of course, because the Legion had travelled them to reach Kal’Hirol. But for the time being at least she had not sanctioned setting darkspawn on the path towards Cadash Thaig and Soldier’s Peak. King Bhelen’s men were having a difficult enough time reinforcing the passages and their outposts through Cadash Thaig as it was without the added pressure of the darkspawn nest at Kal’Hirol directed their way.

Sigrun kicked the stone panel again, hard, and this time something gave, and it swung inward, like it had loosened. Eideann gritted her teeth at the sound of scraping stone and metal, and then peered into the dark passage. Somewhere up in the castle, she knew there were more darkspawn. But there were ones she could not sense, and that was still a problem to be wary about. 

“I’ll go first,” Sigrun said merrily. “Watch your step. It’s stairs.” And then she took off without another word down into the darkness. Eideann shook her head.

And then a soft blue light flooded the way forward as Anders cast some sort of spell. It was not fire, like Velanna’s, but it did glow, and that was enough. He grimaced at her, and then nodded. 

“I’ll go next. Nate, keep the rear just in case,” she said, and then stepped down into the tunnels after Sigrun. 

***

Kal’Hirol was a nightmare of oozing darkspawn filth in triangular corridors of ancient design that left the space feeling top-heavy, constrictive, and dank. The entire place reeked of the nest, and Eideann wondered if pulling her collar up higher over her nose might help keep back the stench.

_Probably not,_ she thought, grimacing, and took a wary step along the dank corridor. 

Their passage had emerged at some point beyond the main entranceway, which made since since guards would have been stationed there. Instead they had broken through a similar wall as before, wincing at the scraping of stone and creaking of ancient hinges. Now they were gathered, listening for the sounds of movement, in the empty halls of Kal’Hirol. 

It was creepy. At least in Bownammar and Ortan Thaig and Cadash Thaig, there had been some sort of darkspawn presence, but here the deep blue of the stone was empty of darkspawn, like they were somewhere else entirely, deeper in, down further. That made Eideann very nervous.

She could sense them back behind towards the main fortress doors, clearly expecting some sort of charge there. But the darkspawn were scattered below them now, and even that was mere flickers, and she knew there should be more. It was a nest. The number they had killed at Bownammar had given insight into what she should expect in those halls. But this was something far different. And it was very concerning. 

Kal’Hirol was built as maze, every set of steps they found descending down further, deeper underground. They were forced to ramble through a number of narrow and shattered streets, where the only creatures they encountered were particularly vicious corrupted spiders that died relatively quickly once Anders had stop shrieking at the sight of them and Sigrun had hacked through their knobbly legs. 

As they wound through the twisting paths, navigating ancient corridors of broken homes, Sigrun grew increasingly wary, and then Eideann found out why. The cavern suddenly opened into a wide marketplace, empty stalls lying upended or rusting into oblivion about a massive square atop a large staged platform. 

“The Stone.” The dwarf had frozen, and Eideann paused to glance back at her, feeling a shiver of something climb up her spine. 

“Maker’s blood,” she heard Nathaniel murmur, and glanced back to catch sight of what it was they were all staring at. 

There was a shimmering as figures took shape, dwarves, ancient spirits trapped there perhaps, or something else entirely? Sigrun beside her was quiet in her explanation.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she whispered. “They say the memories of the Stone are forever. Is…is this what they mean?” Eideann considered the ethereal bodies that crowded at the base of the platform before them. A single dwarven ghost stood atop. Or perhaps he was a memory? She was not sure. Could the earth remember? Perhaps…in some way…it could. 

The voice, though, was clear, unnerving, and its words were in the common tongue. She froze to listen, hands loose about Justice and King’s Duty. 

“For generations they have told you you are _nothing_!” He called. His voice was clear, not the echoes of demons or spirits she had heard at the Circle of Magi or the Brecilian Forest. These were something different. “Swept you away like so much _dust_. Now, you are the _only_ thing standing between them and the darkspawn that threaten our empire!” 

_Casteless…_ Eideann stared, shifting her attention a moment to the collected ghosts gathered at the foot of the platform before the darkspawn totems that now owned the place. _He’s speaking to Casteless. The Casteless here fought._

She thought of King Bhelen’s reforms of the Caste System, his efforts to drag Orzammar kicking and screaming into the world lest they succumb to the darkspawn entirely. Here was the self-same thing yet again. She narrowed her gaze. 

The figure atop the platform was in dwarven plate, old from the time of the First Blight but still clearly armored where the other ghostly remnants were in simple tattered attire. He paced across the staged platform, voice rising into the cavern high above.

“Show them that you are _not_ nothing!” he cried. “Show them that you _can_ be warriors. Let the Stone tremble with the thunder of your footsteps! _Fight_!”

Beside her, Sigrun was staring, as though entranced. Eideann’s gaze slid to her, and the Legionnaire swallowed, then blinked a few times, shaking herself a little. 

“Commander,” she said softly. Eideann nodded, reading the strange light in the dwarf’s eyes, then turned away towards the steps leading into the backstreets again. The way forward was blocked by darkspawn totems, though there was still no sign of the creatures. 

They were not the only ghosts that Kal’Hirol was hosting, either, those Casteless and their speaker from the stage. The entire place seemed to come alive, the corridors shining blue with lyrium light and the remnants of the long dead still retracing their last moments. 

“They’re gone. They’ve abandoned the Thaig. We have to follow them,” one was saying quietly within the first backstreet. “I’m not going to sit here and be eaten by those monsters.” The woman with him shook her head, arms crossed.

“But this is our home. We can’t survive out there.”

“We won’t survive in here,” the man said softly. And then they faded, reappearing further up the street, and walking back down, repeating the conversation like the snippets of a song stuck in their head. Eideann stepped around them. She did not want to try walking through them. The group at her back was somber, quiet. Anders shook his head.

“They’re not spirits,” he confirmed softly, and Eideann gave a nod.

“Perhaps the Stone really does remember,” she said softly. Sigrun gave a shudder and moved on, taking the lead again. Her feet crunched on the bones of a pair of skeletons at the corner of the street, and she glanced back to the replaying ghostly images with a look of illness and fear. 

“Ancestors take us,” she murmured softly. “What happened here.” 

“The darkspawn,” Eideann replied softly. “And we’re here to drive them back.” Sigrun, emboldened by that simplification, nodded and drew a deep breath before pressing onwards.

Eideann took to checking in each house as they passed then, trying to glean what story she could. There was no telling when the information would be useful again. Knowing how the darkspawn had overrun Kal’Hirol could make all the difference for the dwarves in future battles, and it could make all the difference for them there. Perhaps the Broodmothers in Kal’Hirol were ancient. Perhaps they had been there since the beginning of the Blights themselves. The thought chilled her.

One of the outbuildings was a scattered and battered office, long overrun. Papers were scattered across the floor, reports it appeared, military. Eideann could not read them all. Some were very clearly written in dwarven runes. But the ones she could read were disconcerting. 

“The defenses have failed,” Nathaniel said, reading the first note he came across aloud for them all, “and the golems are lost. The way is clear from the Pillars of Cadash to Kal’Hirol. The darkspawn are three days from Kal’Hirol, four at most. Prepare the thaig.” Eideann closed her eyes, focusing on drawing a slow breath.

“We’re three days from Cadash Thaig?” she asked softly. Sigrun gave a quiet nod.

“Two perhaps from Soldier’s Peak, maybe one if you march quickly. The roads around here are…difficult to navigate, but the way is pretty clear. It was once a main thoroughfare through the Orzammar. They say the walls here used to glitter with gold,” she said softly. 

“This was lost in the First Blight. When exactly, do you know?” she asked softly. Sigrun shook her head.

“They say it was one of the first,” was the only reply she had to give. Eideann narrowed her gaze. 

“Meaning it fell, and so did Cadash Thaig, very early on.” Sigrun gave a quiet look, and Eideann shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just…a thought.” 

_Follow the Deep Roads back, and you reach the Waking Sea. Dumat harried Tevinter first, the old Imperium. Dumat was buried somewhere near the Waking Sea._ She filed the thought away, grim and determined, and turned her attention instead to a journal with loose pages worn and brittle with time. This, she learned, belonged to the warrior, Dailan. She skimmed the pages with an unsettled feeling.

“2 Pluitanis: More southern thaigs have fallen. Vren Thaig and Kal’Barosh are overrun. Four thousand lives lost. The darkspawn are almost at the gates of Kal’Hirol. The fortress must be evacuated,” she read softly. 

“Four thousand?” Anders murmured weakly. Eideann continued.

“4 Pluitanis: Ther will be an exodus to Orzammar. Many nobles are appalled, Orzammar being a trade city so close to the surface. They fear losing their stone sense to the surface vapors – a ridiculous notion. But Orzammar is the easiest to defend.” 

“Maker’s blood, they pulled every thaig back to Orzammar?” Nathaniel said quietly. Sigrun grimaced.

“And now look how many are left,” she said softly.

“7 Pluitanis: Scouts have sighted the horde,” Eideann read on. “It is vast. To outrun the darkspawn, the commanders say we must leave now with nothing beyond bare essentials. Addendum – I have volunteered to remain behind with a contingent of men. We’ll hold off the darkspawn so the others can escape. Ancestors have mercy.” She narrowed her eyes, feeling it settle in the pit of her stomach. The Fifth Blight had been nothing compared to the First. “9 Pluitanis: The Casteless are still here, forgotten in the panic. They are 500 strong. If even half can be inspired to fight, they’ll make an army. There is a chance—a small chance—that this will make the difference.” She looked up. “That must have been Dailan, on that platform, trying to convince them all. 10 Pluitanis: Two hundred men and women. Ancestors grant that 200 are enough. 15 Pluitanis: The darkspawn have pushed us back to the inner keep. Only a handful of us survive, but we’ve held them back five days. We could not have done this without the Casteless—no, not Casteless. To call them ‘Casteless’ would be a mistake. Their sacrifice must not be forgotten.” Eideann looked up and caught Sigrun gazing at her feet again. Then she drew a breath and carefully gathered a few of the papers together with the journal, sliding them carefully into her pack. “We will want to make sure these reach Orzammar,” she said quietly, “and we will want them to know what happened here.” There was an inkling of respect in Sigrun’s gaze when she at last looked back.

Beyond that, the ghosts still walked, locked close to their corpses, now merely bones crumbling to dust in the millennia that had followed their murder. 

Some where involved in some battle, presumably with darkspawn, which also had their own ghostly shades. They were all genlocks, all from dwarven broodmothers. That made sense, she supposed, though she was uncertain exactly what broodmothers were dwelling there now. 

And then something flickered in the back of her mind, an inkling, and she recognized it immediately.

“Darkspawn,” she spat, taking a stance, as they emerged from the next chamber. Genlocks, just like those the dwarf had fought, and a pair of hurlocks, and at their head a darkspawn with cunning eyes wearing a red cloak. 

“Ignore the shadows,” the creature said. “They do no harm. Kill the intruder.”

_Maker’s blood, it speaks like the others._ So the Architect was somehow involved.

She lopped its head off with a single swing, hacking her way through them with a new resolve.

“You. Will. Not. Have. My. Country,” she spat at each thrust and swing. Nathaniel’s arrows managed to tear through the genlock emissary waiting at the far end of the street. Sigrun, darting about the hurlocks, ended the last of them.

“You could sense it?” Nathaniel asked, crossing to join her when they were all dead. She shook her head, kicking at the cloaked one.

“Not this one,” she said softly. “But those,” she nodded to the genlocks and hurlocks, “yes. They’re not…Awakened.” Awakened darkspawn. Maker’s blood. “They still hear the Song.”

“As do you,” Nathaniel said quietly, filling in the words unspoken. She just gave him a silent look, and he nodded, turning away. 

The next ghosts were more of the Casteless, huddled together in groups. The first was a mother and daughter huddled in the remains of an old home. 

“Mother, please. You don’t know how to fight,” the daughter begged into the cool blue stone chambers. Eideann gritted her teeth and pressed on. The next group was a gathering of ghostly remnants digging through weapon stores. The weapons themselves still stood in a crate, rusted away to dust and raw marks in the stone, wood of the crate rotted into splinters. But the ghosts were armed, the echoes still there of the old memories from over a thousand years ago.

“These weapons,” Eideann recognized the voice as Warrior Dailan’s, “were taken from the armories of Kal’Hirol. I ask only for volunteers who would rather die fighting than give in.” But even that plea was not enough. More than half the Casteless had chosen not to fight, after all, according to Dailan’s reports.

“Sod off,” one of the Casteless ghosts called back on repeat. “You people left us for dead. We should just take your weapons and kill you instead.” Dailan’s ghost still held its own.

“Then you will go to your graves knowing you murdered the one person who thought you worthy to bear arms for Kal’Hirol. Do you want that?! Or do you want to prove your worth?!” Eideann closed her eyes a moment. It had never been about proving worth. What honor did a Duster care for that was not stolen from them by the circumstances of birth alone? The Casteless were the bottom of the pile, and most felt they had no need to prove their worth to anyone atop them. Why should they? With no way to move forward, there was no incentive. Faced with certain death if they stayed when all the others had fled to Orzammar, she was not surprised so many had turned Dailan down.

“Those bastards left us behind,” another called, “and he wants us to fight to defend their escape?!”

“We’re going to die anyway. Dailan’s giving us a chance to prove we’re not worthless!” another cried.

“You’re full of sod, Duster,” the first said with despair. “Some of us are going to try and make it to the surface. You in?” 

“No. I’m going to do something right for once in my life.” 

Some _had_ stayed, whether out of fear, of hope of redemption, or a drive to make something of themselves after so long being trodden down. Some had decided that it was better to fight and to die fighting. And that was something she could respect as well. There was a time to stand your ground, and a time to run. She admired that those people who had never been given a choice before had made their choices based on their principles after all, whatever that might mean. She was glad they had been given the chance to try, whatever the motivation behind it. Dailan was no reformer like Bhelen was trying to be, but he had been willing to take a chance. Eideann caught herself wondering if such a thing had happened in other thaigs as they collapsed, and thought that perhaps it very probably had. 

The streets at last wound back out into the main chamber with its raised platform, and here the Casteless ghosts battled more of the darkspawn. Here as well the darkspawn filth again picked up, like it had been repelled by the ghostly presences until that point. Eideann grimaced at the slime, then slowly descended the steps, deeper in. 

“Is this…normal…for the Deep Roads?” Anders said softly. Eideann simply sighed.

“There is no normal in the Deep Roads,” she replied. “Only chaos. Only fear. Only things long lost.”

“And darkspawn,” Sigrun added with a smirk. “They’re pretty constant too.” 

At the bottom of the steps was a door, thick metal embossed with reliefs of dwarven helmets. Eideann considered it warily, then glanced sidelong to Sigrun. 

“What’s down there?” she asked quietly.

“The Trade Quarter,” Sigrun replied, eyes narrow, “and beyond that, our Broodmothers.” 

“Keep your guard up,” Eideann warned, and then reached for the doors.

***

He could hardly breathe. His legs were aching and sore from old injury. Fire burned all about them, catching everything alight that it possibly could, including the roots that twisted through the stone and had shattered the Deep Roads walls and floors and ceiling in the chaos of destruction. If nothing else, Velanna knew how to destroy. 

He heard Lucan give a sharp whine and whipped about to see the dog take an arrow and hobble forward. He turned and aimed as quickly as he could, and to his relief managed to get a shot straight through the heart of one of the creatures. 

The Deep Roads slipped right into the chasm that opened up, but they also had wound off a different way. Whatever the case may be, Keenan understood that taking the darkspawn straight to the surface was a liability. If he carried along the western tunnel, at worst they would reach the outposts that had been established to guard the Deep Road entrance up to Soldier’s Peak, and that meant back-up even if only the reserve forces Eideann had posted there to assist Senechal Dryden. 

But he was still hoping to lose the creatures before that became a problem.

The Deep Roads had begun to slope deeply again, plunging down into the earth, further and further, until the air itself felt oppressive and stagnant and the entire weight of the world felt like it should come crashing down on them all. Oghren was wheezing at his side, and pain burned like a shot of fire through his veins at all his recently healed injuries. Every step was a torment. 

And then at last Oghren was done running. He turned, gave a roar, and charge straight into the flames, battleaxe whirring through the air. Velanna gave a curse, something Dalish, and hurried to cover him with more fire, more stone hurling through the air, the forces of nature crashing down to destroy their pursuers. 

The darkspawn had followed them back up the Deep Roads steps, back into the main tunnels. Even some of the grubs had crept after them, but Velanna had ended those with the liberal application of collapsing ceilings. It had seemed, for a moment, she might bring the whole tunnel down. When she started hurtling the rubble from derelict houses, he had been concerned, but he had come to learn that at least in destructive magics Velanna’s talents corresponded directly to how panicked she was feeling in a situation. And she was certainly panicking now.

Worse, she was angry.

He could not calm her. That would be suicide. They needed all the force she could muster. Her energies were finite though, when all was said and done, and he did not want to find out they had hit the limit in the middle of the battle.

“Oghren is in the way,” he finally said.

“That is his fault,” she snapped. “Those beasts have Seranni, and I will make them pay.” Keenan shook his head.

“Velanna…” She swung about and the entire wall shifted as she gave a cry of outrage. It had been a collapsed section, rubble piled high and blocking the passage. Now, though, it was moving, catching on her rage and flying free, hurtling through space to catapult into the darkspawn.

And then suddenly there were none left, and Oghren stood in the center of a ring of fallen darkspawn, some murdered by blade, others by stone. And the entire collapsed wall was cleared, a way forward made at last.

It was clear then they could not go back. With their pursuers somewhere in that direction, and the chaos of Velanna’s rage in their wake, there really were no better options. Keenan considered the newly opened passage and sighed. Somewhere ahead, he could feel the darkspawn, and he grimaced a little. That, perhaps, led back. 

But at least they might be able to find the Commander and her party. And that was a benefit. 

So he winced and carefully considered Lucan who was limping from the arrow in his leg. 

Velanna surprised him then, dropping down and murmuring some things in Dalish to the dog who gave a low whine and then a sharp bark as the arrow came free. And then soothing healing magic, the Dalish kind not the Spirit Healer sort Anders had used, washed over them all as Velanna did her best to soothe the creature’s wounds. 

“I thought you couldn’t heal?” Keenan asked.

“I can’t,” she replied. “This is the limit of it.” But whatever she had done had Lucan in a much better state, and Keenan’s legs felt less achy and sore. Even Oghren seemed a bit more alert, grumpy as he was in his berserker anger.

Keenan had to admit the man was intimidating if nothing else. His experience with dwarves was limited, but the berserkers were legendary. Seeing one up close and in action though…it made him feel a little sorry for the darkspawn. Oghren was a bit of a machine. 

He motioned to the tunnel.

“We have no choice,” he finally said, considering the way. “This may loop back around, in which case we can reunite with the Commander, otherwise, we travel until we can find a way out and hope we don’t die first.” 

“I’ll lead,” Oghren grumbled, stalking off into the front. “Damn surfacers don’t know sod about the Deep Roads.” That was fairly true, at least in their case, so Keenan let it be. He was quickly learning that Oghren was the sort of man who needed a mission, a responsibility, and permission to cut his way through hordes of darkspawn as necessary. And Velanna needed the right to rage as well.

_Commander, I’ve got a destructive team,_ he thought, but smiled a little. He had chosen well in that, at least. That destructive team had ended almost an entire vanguard of darkspawn. 

He just hoped Eideann and her group were having as much luck.

“How does he know how to find the way?” Velanna asked Keenan quite suddenly, her voice sharp. “He could be leading us anywhere.”

“Sod off and die, frolicky prancy…” Oghren grumbled. Keenan sighed, then shook his head, glancing to Velanna who was glaring with angry eyes ahead.

“The Stone sense,” he said softly. “All dwarves have it, unless they’re surface dwarves.”

“Stone sense?” Velanna said with skepticism. There was soot on her nose, he noticed, and a dangerous look in her eye like he was lying.

“The dwarves…for the dwarves, the Stone is like a god,” he tried to explain, but he was bad at explaining things in general, and not entirely clear on the details. There was little hope of Oghren rescuing him with a civil discussion on the topic, however. If he knew nothing else, he knew that much. So instead he just let the conversation die.

Velanna, however, did not. She crossed her arms, glaring back up at Oghren.

“Why,” she said abruptly, “do your people revere the stone so much?” Oghren gave a low grunt, then turned to walk backwards down the corridor so she could feel the benefit of his glare. 

“It’s because we come from the Stone,” he said, sounding very put-upon. “When we come out of our mothers, we’re small, round rocks. Pink-streaked rocks are girls, and gray ones are boys. The rocks must be dipped in lava for a few moments each day to keep warm. Every year, a few unlucky parents drop the rock into the lava and can’t get it out. Very sad. But do it right, and in a few weeks, the rock cracks open, revealing a bouncing dwarven baby.” Keenan stared. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to roll his eyes. 

Velanna drank it all in, and for a moment looked confused. 

“Like…ann egg?” she asked in a perplexed voice. Maker’s breath, she believed the man. Keenan did not have the heart to ruin the joke, not with Velanna so confused by it all and determined to make it make sense. “That can’t be right.” And for the first time in a long time, he saw Oghren crack the slightest of smiles under his red mustache. The dwarf turned his back again to hide the smirk, then waved his free hand back at them both.

“Are you questioning dwarven nature and tradition?” he demanded. “I’m insulted.” 

Velanna’s eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips, but said nothing. And when her eyes found Keenan’s he forced his face into a mask and simply shrugged.

“How would I know?” he asked as innocently as he could, trying to keep the amusement from his tone. “I’m just a human, remember?” And for some reason, she was content to leave it at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES ON KAL'HIROL
> 
> Kal'Hirol was named for Paragon Hirol. It was a center of learning for the smith caste, ultimately the source of a great many inventions, including an improvement to golems and a secure way to store lyrium. Its halls were said to glitter with silver and gold.
> 
> Kal'Hirol was "one of the first to fall" to the Blight. The entire dwarven kingdom was reduced to four great Thaigs (Gundaar, Kal'Sharok, Orzammar, and Hormak) within about fifty years, meaning that Kal'Hirol was among those that fell during that fifty year period at the beginning of the Blight. 
> 
> The original secret entrance in game is literally right next to the main door, for no logical reason other than so people don't need to backtrack. Also, it emerges right next to the front door again inside. Mostly, it's entirely useless as a secret entrance. So, for logic reasons, the secret entrance has been located into the Kal'Hirol DustTown, like it would be similar to within Orzammar. It emerges somewhere within. There are a few liberties regarding the room full of documents (not a thing in game) because I feel like a base of operations would make sense given they're mounting a defense, and also because there's no point in spending ages meandering about discussing codices when everything could easily be "found" in one place for story applications. 
> 
> If you're interested in checking out the map of the Deep Roads as it overlays to the surface, I did actually post that awhile ago, and you can find that [ Here: Deep Roads Overlay Map](http://higheverrains.tumblr.com/post/124899607108/deep-roads-overlay-map) :) Enjoy! <3


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann and her group uncover a darkspawn civil war; the Wardens are reunited and Velanna and Sigrun bond; Eideann's Wardens have another run in with the Children; Eideann and her Wardens face off against the Lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence
> 
> Comments always welcome.

The darkspawn were at war. 

Eideann called a halt at the foot of the steps descending into the forges of the Trade Quarter of Kal’Hirol. Sigrun paused at her side, watching with surveying eyes as the darkspawn tore through one another before them. At her back, Eideann heard Nathaniel’s bowstring draw taut, but he made no move, and Anders was silent as well. 

What were they doing? Two factions of darkspawn in open conflict? She did not understand. Her experience was with the darkspawn united. She had not heard anything to suggest this was normal behavior outside of a Blight, and she had certainly made sure to look into it before her arrival when she had detoured to Soldier’s Peak.

“Press the attack!” one of the darkspawn roared, and Eideann’s eyes narrowed. “The Lost is mine!” 

And they went. They followed instructions. Eideann felt a chill of fear. Darkspawn that thought and spoke and made plans. What was lost? Or who? Or…she did not even know. She let the thought slide away.

“Do they…normally fight like that?” Anders asked quietly as the last of the stragglers split off down the tainted halls of Kal’Hirol, following their darkspawn commander. Eideann, swords out, strode into the chamber and ended the darkspawn that were in the throes of death with her blades, a grimace on her face. It was Sigrun who replied in her stead.

“Sometimes Alphas take charge of darkspawn bands, but they don’t speak,” the Legionnaire muttered. “And this…this is a nest. They never fight in nests. Darkspawn aren’t very territorial. They’re driven above all by the song.” 

“The fact they are apparently territorial now suggests they are _not_ hearing the song,” Nathaniel said softly, his voice that quiet hum that got everyone’s attention every time he spoke. Eideann sighed, considering the chamber with its odd fleshy growths, strange pustules, and tendrils that snaked across great chains. And then she looked back.

“Perhaps they aren’t,” she said softly. “We have no idea how many of the Architect’s Awakened darkspawn there are, and even if they are all loyal to him. He does not appear to command them. At least, not all of them.” She looked hesitant. “I…don’t know what to make of all this.”

“The Architect?” Sigrun asked curtly, crossing her arms. “You keep mentioning this Architect. What are you not telling me here?” Eideann sighed again, then glanced warily back over her shoulder towards the cavern before giving a hurried explanation.

“The Architect apparently surfaced under Ferelden before the Blight, but we know little enough about him. We had the opportunity to cross his path in the Wending Wood south of here, however, and learned he had been…performing experiments on the darkspawn. For some reason, the Architect is free of the Blightsong, and those darkspawn he has experimented on are now also free of it. They think, they strategize, and they speak. Those talking darkspawn…those are the Awakened darkspawn.” She shook her head. “But down here was different. As Wardens, neither myself nor Keenan could sense the Awakened darkspawn, only the regular ones. And here, I can sense them, meaning some of them can still hear the Blight. They’re following these Awakened darkspawn, who are infighting. I don’t even know how the Architect fits into all this save that he is the original source. He may have lost control entirely after we drove him from the Wending Wood with his forces, or perhaps he lost it long before. His people attacked Vigil’s Keep and slaughtered most of the Wardens garrisoned there without a hint of warning, so some certainly do still follow his orders. But how that relates to Kal’Hirol or those strange insect darkspawn, or the rest of all this.” She shook her head. “I came north following reports of darkspawn bands fleeing the Battle of Denerim failing to retreat back underground. And what I found instead is something I can hardly comprehend without the context.” She looked back at the rooms. “Why would Awakened darkspawn attack a nest?”

“To control it,” Sigrun said simply. Her eyes were dark and cold. “We have to imagine now that the darkspawn think and act like we do, Commander. And if that is the case, why would one faction of humans invade another faction.” Eideann closed her eyes.

“To control it. And if they need to control it, it’s not because of the territory itself. It’s only a nest because there are broodmothers.” 

“They want the broodmothers,” Sigrun nodded, then glanced to the darkspawn corpses littering the chamber. “If they’re following this Architect, then he is the one that wants the Broodmothers. If they are not, perhaps they are seeking to keep it from him, and he already controls Kal’Hirol.” Eideann sighed, shaking her head.

“Whatever it is, I can’t work out more standing here. And the idea of factions of darkspawn at war under Amaranthine…” She forced away the tendril of fear. She could not fight another war, especially not a war she did not understand. She could not be in the middle of it either, collateral damage to the darkspawn that threatened Amaranthine. And she had only a handful of Wardens against a force that had wiped out an entire Legion of the Dead. 

She hoped this was a limited affair, particular to Kal’Hirol itself. At least, if that was the case, she could plan her way around it, and send to Orzammar for more assistance in clearing out the ancient fortress. She hoped it was a mild infestation instead of a giant swarm. 

Somehow the alternative was too much to comprehend at the moment. So she pressed onward across the hall.

This was the true heart of Kal’Hirol, its beating center where once the forges had fed the empire and molded molten metal into treasures that had given the place its fame before the First Blight. It was strange to see the ancient structures that made up Kal’Hirol, older even than Bownammar, with its shattered flagstones and triangular corridors and wrought iron fences that dropped off into deep lyrium wells the ancient dwarves had used for enchantment. 

The chambers here were also full of darkspawn totems, jagged edges and pointed crescent moons, blasphemous shrines to the Old Gods, or so the Chantry would say. Eideann was not so sure, herself, what they were shrines too, but they made her skin crawl. 

She led her party through the halls, pausing when they encountered more of the darkspawn factions warring in the corridors. It made no sense to expend their finite reserves of energy on killing beasts determined to kill one another already. She would let them battle it out and then finish off whoever survived. But those factions had her very concerned. Something bigger was at work. She had thought her enemy to be this Architect, but now…? Now she was wondering what was driving the other darkspawn, or worse if they were simply driving themselves now they were free of the Song. The thought of such creatures, with all their brutality and their tainted presence drifting through Thedas and wreaking havoc without any motivation at all was what scared her more. After all, you could fight anything if you knew its motivations. You could understand anything if you recognized what it wanted. Who could even begin to guess what a thinking darkspawn might decide it wanted? 

They emerged down a corridor into a massive chamber where forgefires caused the air to shimmer with heat. Fed by the fires of the earth itself, they bubbled and churned, long bereft of the forgemasters that had once made this the greatest dwarven craft city their empire had ever seen. The tools of their trade still lay about, anvils in ancient styles and hammers and tongs. Buckets and carts of loose ore glinted and glittered in the lights from the lava that ran through the center as a river might have. A small bridge connected the two sections behind the massive columns of dwarven paragons, more lava flowing through gaping mouths, harnessed by the ancient dwarves. Eideann had no idea how, and that was incredible. 

Something was humming, a strange high-pitched hum, and Eideann winced as they drew close to the source, gritting her teeth. 

“What in the Maker’s name is that?” she asked curtly.

“Raw lyrium,” Anders called, squinting. It was probably several times amplified for him, as a mage. It was in open buckets, exposed and simply abandoned as the smiths had fled the fortress during the First Blight. Anders drew alongside her, pulling her back a little. “The Chantry has a monopoly on all lyrium the dwarves mine,” he told her, as the distance made the humming quiet a little. “They kill anyone who tries to get around it.” Eideann rolled her eyes, glancing to him.

“What, are you thinking of going into business?” she asked him, peering about the chamber at the ancient equipment that had worked to even construct that very chamber itself. Anders eyed the lyrium buckets side on, still squinting a little.

“Sure, why not?” he said simply. “I’ve always fancied life as a lyrium smuggler. Maybe I’ll wear a dashing chapeau.” Eideann smirked and shook her head.

“Wouldn’t suit you, my friend,” she told him simply, and then rolled her shoulders. Something was not quite right, aside from the lyrium, about the forge room.

“There’s no darkspawn in this room. At least not on this side of the room,” Sigrun said suddenly, and Eideann glanced around before giving a soft nod. It was true. “Do the darkspawn use lyrium?”

“I have no idea,” Eideann admitted, but the thought was disconcerting. The magic of the darkspawn appeared more…base. It was linked to the Blight, she had worked out that much, and seemed more akin to blood magic than anything else. She sighed.

“I used to be a good little Andrastian,” Anders was still grumbling. “Said my prayers, repented my sins, all of it.” 

“Sounds horrible,” Eideann said with an amused smirk, shaking her head. “Would you be quiet a moment?” He made a moue and crossed his arms, his staff loose in one hand. 

“I’m sorry. I’m nervous,” he said simply. “Talking helps. Anyway, it could have been worse.” Eideann raised an eyebrow, then glanced back. 

“It still could,” she said pointedly. He gave her a flat stare, shaking his head a little.

“I could have been made Tranquil, haggling over the price of a wand. Or I could be with the Qunari. I hear they leash their mages. Or I could be dead! Dead’s bad,” he said simply. 

“Is this really helping?” Nathaniel said quietly, and Eideann sighed.

“You still could end up dead, Anders. Just shut it for a moment if you don’t feel like becoming broodmother dinner.” She circled back up over the bridge to consider the next door, then grimaced. “Perspective, Anders, is everything.” She heard him give an airy sniff behind her, then shook her head. “They are not on this side because of the lyrium maybe?” she finally said. “We should not be on this side either. It’s toxic when its raw, isn’t it?” Sigrun nodded and Eideann glanced back to the others. “Keep your eye out for trouble.” And then she pressed onward.

“If I didn’t have perspective,” Anders insisted, following her back across the bridge, “I’d still be sitting in the Templar dungeon drooling on my smallclothes.” Eideann glanced sidelong to him as he fell in step beside her. “A related question: what do Grey Wardens do when there aren’t darkspawn running amok?” Eideann gave a grin.

“I hardly know. I was made a Grey Warden at Ostagar. I haven’t seen that part yet,” she said with a soft laugh. 

“I mean, are there parties?” he pressed. “Do we travel the world? Take over small kingdoms.” 

“Apparently we do the last one, yes,” Eideann smirked. “Or I do at least.” Her smile slipped. “The problem with the darkspawn, Anders, is they _don’t_ go away. We remain vigilant, because they are never truly gone.” He gave her another flat look, unhappy with the answer.

“Well hopefully someone comes to dust off the cobwebs every now and again,” he sniffed. Eideann sighed, shaking her head.

“Look on the bright side,” Sigrun said frankly. “You might die here and never need to worry about it.” Eideann cracked a smirk at her disarming smile, then adjusted her grip on her swords to take the lead again. 

“Alright, everyone, enough now. There’s darkspawn up ahead.” And with that the revelry was gone. Anders looked discomforted, and Nathaniel nocked an arrow in preparation again, his look grim. Only Sigrun kept her smile, the dead smile that the Legionnaires always seemed to have because they had resigned themselves to a good fight and a good death in the Deep Roads anyway. Eideann had no such luxury. She just felt the usual hollow determination to see it through to the end. And her mind was still trying to work out what exactly was going on.

From there the chambers sloped upwards again, opening up in steps that led higher again, like they were emerging. Eideann considered it, then glanced to Sigrun.

“Where does it go, do you know?” Sigrun shrugged.

“The Legion never made it this far,” she said simply, “but at a best guess, assuming my Stone sense is intact, it goes up towards the main fortress level again. Maybe outward to the Deep Roads. The second faction of darkspawn didn’t come in the way we did, or else they would have been more fighting in the main fortress. They came from this way, or further in at the other entrance.” Eideann nodded, narrowing her eyes at it a moment. 

“The Broodmothers are down,” she finally told them, though she was betting Sigrun had already guessed as much. “I want to go up that way, and make sure we have an exit if possible. If that way does lead to the Deep Roads, those Deep Roads lead to the dwarven outposts at Soldier’s Peak. And we need to know about it if it does.”

“We don’t even know where underground we are,” Anders said. Eideann shook her head, giving a small smile, then glanced to Nathaniel who sighed.

“Kal’Hirol appears to lie west-northwest from the intial entrance we used, and we’ve been travelling into the heart of the Farevel Plains,” Nathaniel said simply. “If the amount of time we’ve spent is any indication, it’s early evening now, and that means that Kal’Hirol is exceptionally large.” Eideann nodded her agreement. Her tracking confirmed by someone who had already proven better at it, she glanced back to Anders. 

“The closer we are to the main Deep Roads, the more likely we’ll encounter normal darkspawn instead of the Awakened sort. That means I can sense them, and that means we can camp if there’s a place to do so. We can’t face broodmothers exhausted.” She considered them then, and Sigrun gave a quiet nod, then turned to climb the first of the steps.

“Upwards it is then, Commander,” she said simply. “Keep up Dusters. We’re not there yet.” 

***

Eideann sank back against the stone, carefully twisting King’s Justice this way and that to make sure she had thoroughly cleaned it. Her eyes were tired, but as the only one able to sense darkspawn, she could not yet sleep. Sigrun was to take the next watch, since at least the Legion had the advantage of experience on their side, but even that was only a stop-gap, and Eideann was not certain she could sleep anyway.

The steps had indeed led up towards the main fortress again, somewhere higher, noble buildings, and those spaces had been fairly free of darkspawn considering all that was going on. They had found an entrance that led to the Deep Roads, a great gate like the one that had been blocking the way at Bownammar, and set up camp not far from it. 

She wanted the exit at her back if need be. And she also wanted to know where it went. Her primary motivation, however, was unspoken: she was hoping for Keenan to return with Oghren and Velanna. With the situation as it was, factions of warring darkspawn, she needed more Wardens, more help. She was starting to suspect she might need to send word to Starkhaven or Jader in the hopes of summoning more Wardens to help. These tunnels were so old even the dwarven maps did not list them, and they were flooded with darkspawn that arguably may be as old as the First Blight itself. She was not certain she was able to withstand that again. 

Her fingers toyed with the chain of the Warden pendant at her neck, but then she caught herself doing it and let it fall, instead gathering Zevran’s time-keeping lyrium clock into her hand instead. She watched the lyrium slide through the hourglass, halfway through, and grimaced. Twelve hours – or close enough to it. Maker, she hated the Deep Roads. 

Their camp was set back in an old street, lined with houses for protection. She sat at the entrance, back to the stone wall of the nearest house, gazing out into the empty square that lined the fortress, but she glanced back a moment to check on her company with quiet eyes, wondering what they made of all of this.

Sigrun was curled up on the stone before the remains of a low fire they had lit against the chill of the Kal’Hirol halls. Only embers glowed now, occasionally lighting her face with soft orange. 

Anders was equally exhausted, and he had quickly fallen asleep with his head on Nathaniel’s shoulder. Nathaniel had his back to the wall of another house, his bow repair kit Satlinalia gift beside him as he worked to tend to the bowstring with a clump of wax. That had been some time ago, because he had packed away the box now. He too was asleep, nestled against Anders, his bow in both hands on his lap. Eideann considered the pair of them a moment, then gave the lightest of smiles, and turned back towards the square with a soft sigh, willing to let whatever that was simply be.

And then something flickered. She grimaced, her expression hardening, focusing on it a moment, recognizing it as something tainted, and she listened to see if it was alone. 

There was something…a shuffling…like footsteps, but it was no darkspawn. Perhaps a ghoul? Eideann carefully rose to her feet, tightening her grip on the sword in her hands. To reach for the other would be to make noise. Instead she waited, silent, a shadow in the depths of the street, as the feeling came closer.

And then suddenly it was there, on the stones just round the corner. Eideann took up a defensive stance.

But it was Keenan, and after they both stared a moment at one another, his crossbow aimed at her, and her sword at him, they both let their weapons fall and broke into smiles.

“Sodding jumpy Wardens,” Oghren grumbled, stalking into the camp they had established. Eideann watched him, a look of weary relief, and then reached to clap Keenan on the shoulder. He gave her a nod, putting up his crossbow, and giving a soft chuckle.

“I thought you were another one of the darkspawn,” he laughed. “A shriek maybe, you were so quiet and still.” 

“That could have ended badly,” Eideann laughed, and then she motioned for him to join them, Lucan at his side. Velanna glanced over her shoulder, looking worried and worn, and Eideann gave her a quiet look before the elf simply shook her head.

“Leave me be,” she shot back in irritation, so Eideann took that as a sign everything was just fine and followed the others to the campsite.

“We had to outrun the sodding bastards at the turning,” Oghren was saying gruffly to Sigrun who had stirred at the sound of laughter and kicked the fire embers into a low glow before checking in. “They chased us a fair way until elfy here decided it was worth it to bring half the Deep Roads down atop them.” 

“These passages do appear to track westward from here,” Keenan added, taking a seat slowly with what appeared to be a grimace of pain. His legs were probably on fire from the effort. Eideann sheathed King’s Duty and then stood, arms crossed.

“To the Peak then?” she asked softly, and Keenan gave a nod. “We’ll need to inform King Bhelen’s outpost there, and Seneschal Varel. I don’t want this spilling over.” 

“This is probably where the Blighters came from when we saw them at the Peak before.” 

“Warden Riordan may have been in these tunnels then. He had to flee northward from Ostagar, and he did it through the Deep Roads.” Oghren nodded, and Eideann sighed, sinking into a seat herself beside Anders where he still slept on Nathaniel’s shoulder. Nathaniel was awake now, though he had not moved, only his eyes open gazing at the flames in quiet thought. There was a tension in his face now, like he were trying to make up his mind about something. He caught Eideann watching, and met her gaze in silence before she glanced away.

“We can’t go much further until we’ve had a rest,” Keenan finally said, glancing up wearily as Lucan settled down against his side with a soft whine. “Maker only knows we’ve run long enough today.” 

“When we’ve had the chance to recover, then we’ll head back down,” Eideann agreed, leaning forward a little. She caught sight of Velanna ghosting around the camp and glanced back. “We’ve not seen any sign of Seranni,” she called quietly. Velanna did not turn, but she stopped pacing, arms crossed about herself. Instead she simply stood beside the street wall and bowed her head a little. Eideann pursed her lips, then closed her eyes a moment before glancing back. 

“In shifts then,” Keenan said, reading the exhaustion in her expression. She nodded, and he motioned to her. “You should sleep first. Lucan and I will keep watch.” 

“And I,” Sigrun said softly. “I won’t sleep again now anyway.” Eideann let it be then, and nodded, pushing herself back until she had her back to the wall again, and then she curled her knees up to her chest and settled her head in her arms.

Despite her fatigue, sleep refused to come, but at least in the silence she could sit and focus on listening and thinking. Her pendant was in her hands again, the chain tangled through her fingers as usual. She considered it a moment.

 _What is that is making you frightened?_ she thought, trying to puzzle it out. 

_What if this is too big?_ came the reply, surprising her a little. She had never been one to admit to failure, especially when failure just was not an option. She hardened a little, then drew a slow breath. 

_Then we will get help._

It was quiet for some time until at last Velanna took up the spot beside the fire she had vacated. The elf moved so quietly, Eideann had not even noticed her cross before her at all until she heard the soft sound of the elf speaking to Sigrun.

“I do not understand,” Velanna said. “Why are you so loyal to your Legion of the Dead? And to Orzammar? Don’t they hate you?” 

“They do,” Sigrun said simply. “I’m casteless, so I’m worthless to them.” 

“And yet you’ll give your life away to prove…what?” the elf insisted. Eideann listened in, opening her eyes a crack to consider the silk weave of the trousers on her thighs. 

“That I…I’m more than they say I am?” Sigrun said softly. Eideann closed her eyes again. She thought of the casteless ghosts, of Sigrun’s quiet and angry stares in the halls where those memories were forever enshrined. And then she thought of the other ruins, of Bownammar where Sigrun had held the gates and opened the way, of Cadash Thaig where Sigrun and her scouts had scoured the settlement for darkspawn holes, of the golem monument where Sigrun had thanked Shayle as a sister for her sacrifice so many many years ago. No, Sigrun had always been more than they said she was. It rang like a chord in her soul. Eideann smiled slightly.

“You don’t owe them anything,” Velanna said quietly. “You don’t need to prove your woth to them.” There was a silence a moment, and then Sigrun’s voice came, quieter now, more solemn.

“Maybe I need to prove it to myself.” 

One of her Wardens sighed, Eideann thought it was Velanna, and shifted. For a moment there was silence again, only the soft echoes of the popping embers or the crumble of stone in the fortress chambers out beyond the square. And then Velanna cleared her throat.

“Sigrun, is it true that dwarves are born as rocks?” Eideann did look up then, eyes narrowed and unbelieving, to stare at the back of Velanna’s head. Sigrun had much the same expression.

“Born as rocks?” she said incredulously, her tattoos creased across her brow.

“I knew it!” Velanna spat, erupting with her usual force. “That slimy, foul-breathed toadstool! “Pink rocks are girls, gray ones are boys!” Ugh, and I almost believed him!” Eideann gave a soft laugh. She couldn’t help it. Only one person could have told Velanna that. Only one person would try. Her eyes flickered to where Oghren was snoring away on the stone.

“Who? Oghren?” Sigrun insisted, grinning. “You believed _Oghren_?!” Eideann just set her head back against the stone of the house and shook it with a chuckle.

“Maker’s breath,” she murmured, as if there was anyone to hear. And then she closed her eyes again. 

Something had eased, a weight she was carrying, and it slipped away into the darkness to leave her be. 

She did not remember falling asleep, but she did remember waking up to Nathaniel softly shaking her shoulder.

“Cousland, time to move.” She groaned, scrubbed a hand through her hair, and helped herself to roast nug, courtesy of Sigrun and Lucan tracking into the Deep Roads apparently. Nug was about as appealing as it had always been, but food was food and for the moment she could not be choosy. She was chewing her way through a bit of charred meat when Keenan crossed to her.

“They say we’re looking at warring factions?” he asked quietly, considering the others as they packed up the campsite under Sigrun’s expert direction – as if she had suddenly been nominated camp manager. Eideann gave a worried nod, but to her disappointment Keenan had no further information or experience to add to shed light on the situation. They really were going in blind.

“We’ll play this careful and close,” Eideann finally said when she had finished the roast nug meat. “I don’t want any unnecessary risks. Our mission is to end the broodmothers, and if the darkspawn want to murder one another, I’ll let them do so.”

Down in the depths again, her second Warden party got their glimpse of the forges for the first time. 

“These things are ancient,” Velanna said, wandered about the tables and staring. Eideann remembered in that moment that Velanna had been training to become a Keeper, and her interests actually did lie in the collection of lost knowledge. She allowed the elf a few moments while she and Keenan surveyed the space. Nathaniel and Sigrun slipped ahead to scout out the way beyond and give them some forewarning of what was to come. Lucan sniffed his way around the darkspawn corpses at the top of the steps, while Anders went back to considering the tubs of lyrium. Eideann left him to it, unwilling to get close to it again after the painful hum from the day before. She studied the ancient architecture instead while they waited, arms crossed loosely, pondering. 

The dwarves had built many of their oldest structures as giant triangles to support the weight of the earth without collapsing. Kal’Hirol was such a fortress, and it was probably due to that structural building at all that the place had remained intact considering the damage done to the Deep Roads above by the shifting and movement of the earth. 

She turned to consider the corridor again, and her eyes fell on Oghren who was standing over a table of old smithing tools and an ancient anvil before the forge, running his fingers lightly over a pair of tongs. She swallowed, and then quietly crossed to stand beside him in silence. After a moment, he looked to her, and then glanced back to the table, shaking his head.

“This anvil must be pretty old,” he finally said, distracting himself. “They make ‘em differently these days.” Of course he would know. Branka had been a smith, a Paragon named for her work. That was a massive part of his life, and he had helped Eideann kill her. 

Broodmothers, the Deep Roads, forges, and smiths. Maker, Oghren should not be there. She should have left him behind, but she needed someone who knew the Deep Roads, and he had joined the Wardens to battle the darkspawn and fight to reclaim his honor. He had been the one who had signed on board. Eideann grimaced.

Oghren’s eyes were looking at the anvil by the Kal’Hirol forge, but the one he was seeing was the Anvil of the Void atop the promontory over the lava behind Caridin’s Gauntlet. The Anvil that they had destroyed.

He glanced up at her then, eyes soft and hurting. She had learned to read that look. “Branka once explained it to me, but I’ll be a nug’s uncle if I remember what she said, crazy harpy.” He narrowed his eyes, looking back at the tongs. Eideann wet her lips, then glanced to him with quiet eyes.

“I’m sorry, my friend, for making you come back down here.” He snorted, shaking his head.

“The thing just reminded me of Branka, that’s all,” he snapped curtly. And then he grimaced, shaking his head. “Look, Eideann, I know she’s gone. I know it!” His hands balled to fists at his side and he hung his head, then slowly unfurled them as he swallowed the rage, and that left only the exposed wound he hurried to close over. “But sometimes I…” He sighed. “Ah, sod it.” 

“The way forward is hard,” Eideann told him quietly, glancing to the anvil. “We can’t unmake our choices. We can only live with the consequences.” 

“I didn’t love Felsi enough,” he said in a low murmur. “She left me, even with the nugget.” He grimaced. “I don’t blame her. Ah, look at me, whimpering like a wet box of kittens.” Eideann carefully leaned to nudge him a little until he met her gaze. They were sore and red-rimmed, lined with many years of living roughly. But there was a sadness there, deeper and darker, something she recognized, and she caught onto that. 

“Warden,” she said softly. “I need your help here.” He solidified, nodded, and then stood up taller.

“Let’s go make some paste out of darkspawn,” he growled, and Eideann gave the slightest of smiles. 

“Way ahead is clear,” Sigrun said, emerging from the corridors ahead, Nathaniel at her side. “Brought down an emissary, and his bodyguard, but that was it. The rest are dead. Whatever that force is that invaded, they’ve pushed deeper in while we slept.” Eideann did not know whether to be glad of that, or annoyed.

“Then we had best not wait. If their objective is the Broodmothers, we have to stop them. Hopefully the extra time has thinned the numbers on both sides now.” Sigrun just gave a shrug and turned to walk with Eideann into the caves. “There is one thing you’ll want to see, Commander,” she added, her expression grim. “We…found something. Someone.” Eideann’s eyes narrowed.

The someone was a human, hanging in a cage above one of the lava pools. His eyes were harrowed and weepy, and he clutched at the bars in desperation.

“Oh thank the Maker you’re back!” he cried when they reached him at last. “Help me! Please for the love of all that’s good, let me out!” Eideann considered him with quiet eyes, carefully climbing the steps to the cage where it hung suspended on a thick chain. 

The man gazed back at her with silver eyes. Infected. She drew a breath.

“Why haven’t they killed you, then?” Oghren spat from behind her. “And what are you doing here in the first place?” Eideann raised an eyebrow, turning her attention back to the man in the cage, who gave a panicked look in response.

“I…I overheard Colbert talking about the chasm,” he said hurriedly, “and I thought I’d sneak in past the darkspawn to see if there was any treasure. Well, I found something, in this place, before the darkspawn caught me.” There was a wicked glimmer to his eyes, a madness inset. Colbert had told her about the chasm weeks back. He was not dressed for snows. Eideann narrowed her eyes. Definitely infected. 

“You thief!” Sigrun spat, and Velanna bristled at her side. “What you have belongs to the dwarven people!” 

“Well they weren’t here to defend it!” the man snapped, suddenly angry and raging. It’s not stealing if they’ve abandoned it!” Eideann shook her head, turning away. 

“Wait! Let me out and I’ll give it to you! You can have it! I don’t want it anymore! It’s caused nothing but trouble!” Eideann ignored him, instead glancing to Nathaniel. And then she gave a silent nod. His eyes narrowed a little, and he drew back the arrow nocked in his bow, aiming along the shaft. And then he let it fly. The cage rocked as the man slumped to die, the arrow in his heart. Nathaniel turned away, and Eideann went with him, towards the chamber door.

“We could have saved him!” Anders protested.

“And let the Blight loose in Amaranthine?” Eideann asked quietly. “When you know how to cure the Blight, healer, you tell me. I’d love to know.” And then she pressed onward. Everyone else held their tongues. She felt irritable now that it was done, executing a man whose crime was carrying the Blight, when that was precisely what she did herself, and all those with her. She grimaced. It had already begun to take its toll. She had seen the creeping tendrils of black in his veins on his neck, seen the silver film in his eyes, seen the madness in his voice. The man was half ghoul already. She did not look at her Wardens then, kept her focus ahead, forward, and grimaced.

That was when they found the Children again. This time they were not mere grubs. They were feasting on the flesh of the massacred darkspawn, and as they ate, they sprouted great insectoid legs, morphing into something new. Eideann watched them twitch and morph, sniffing at the air and scuttling across the broodmother filth that coated the corridors ahead. And then they caught the scent of her and her companions.

Maker, they were fast. They roared, horrible roars, more like those she knew from normal darkspawn, and dove for her, knocking Sigrun from her feet beside her even as Oghren came in hacking and slashing with his battleaxe. Eideann’s own blades were out in an instant, sending insect limbs flying across the hall as the creatures set upon them. 

She kicked at the creature that had pinned Sigrun, stabbing it as hard as she could until at last it flailed and died, and then she dragged it from Sigrun’s form and Ander’s magic erupted about them, healing the Legionnaire’s contusions with a horrified look.

“Maker’s blood!” he spat, his face twisted into a mask of anguish and disgust. “It…it changed! Out of nowhere!” Eideann kicked the nearest corpse with a look of disgust all her own.

“The darkspawn grow quickly,” Keenan said warily, “and this may be how. I’ve never seen a Broodmother in the middle of breeding before. Is this the result?” 

“This is no normal Broodmother,” Eideann said quietly. “These…things…” she kicked at the evolved grub again, “are not like normal darkspawn. I still can’t feel them, and they’re not developing into hurlocks or genlocks or shrieks, but these…bug things. And they’re certainly not ogres, for which I am thankful.” She glanced back to him. “This is something else.” They made her thing of spiders. She hated spiders.

“Is the Architect involved?” he asked. “He was…experimenting on Wardens before. Maybe this is what happens when he experiments on Broodmothers?” Eideann just shook her head, because she had no answers.

“Keenan, I need you at the back, in case we encounter more. Sigrun, stay with him. Oghren, with me.” And she set off across the squelching fleshy masses of darkspawn filth.

Kal’Hirol just kept going deeper, sloping downward, though the tunnels were now covered with slime, and the entire place reeked of the nest. They were getting close.

“Several,” Keenan said suddenly, looking a little ill. “Three? Maybe four?” Eideann nodded, and did not like what that might mean. It had been hard enough to kill one. She fully expected she may end up sick again. 

A few of the Wardens behind her were not looking far off already.

“The place just keeps going,” Anders said, sounded a little out of sorts. “Down and down and down. Surely we can’t go much further.” Eideann had no idea. How far down did the Deep Roads truly go? She had seen pits so deep Archdemons could fly in them at Bownammar. 

But then Kal’Hirol levelled out a little, and then suddenly a lot, and they were walking on flat ground again, in a long corridor. Deep channels stone ran along either side of the tunnel, where perhaps lava would be in the Deep Roads above. Here though, it was water, crystal clear, not even a little tainted, strange given all the filth that had filled the corridors of the fortress. She peered into it and realized why. It was run off, dripping through the ceiling and trickling down the walls from high above where the snows sat melting into the earth. Eideann peered at her reflection in the water, warped by the ripples, and then along the corridor.

“Is anyone else afraid of what we’ll find at the end of this corridor?” Nathaniel murmured in his quiet voice. Eideann gritted her teeth.

“Back in Kal’Hirol’s time,” Oghren said, “long corridors were probably a status symbol. The longer the better.” He almost sounded like he knew something, until he gave a dirty chuckle and Velanna told him curtly to keep his tongue in his mouth if he did not want it set alight. 

Eideann _was_ scared though. The broodmothers were ahead, but so were the darkspawn factions battling, and she knew better than to believe the Deep Roads were ever truly safe. A long corridor provided no cover from mages or archers, and neither did it offer an option of retreat. It was perfect for an ambush at the end. She said none of this aloud. She was hoping the darkspawn had not worked that much out.

But at the end they found that they had in fact rediscovered the warring factions. There were two darkspawn there, and some giant metal golem that appeared to answer to one of them. Maker, they could control the golems now? Eideann wanted to scream. 

They were Awakened darkspawn, both of them. One was clad in a red cloak, the other in a blue, and the red cloaked one was armed only with a staff. Strange. Darkspawn emissaries rarely needed staves for their magic. This one was…watching. Its face was a mass of black warpaints and sneers. 

The other darkspawn was facing down the golem. And apparently losing. It had no weapons at all, but its face was smeared with warppaint that made Eideann feel a chill of fear. It looked like the Architect’s mask. She grimaced as the golem smashed it down into the earth and then haulted it up, broken and bleeding, to face the first darkspawn. The emissary – she had no other word for it really – circled them a moment, then shook its head.

“The Architect sends many but does not come himself,” it said with an amused smirk. “He is a coward.” His pointed teeth glinted in a toothy grin. “I will kill you. And he will know that he has failed to destroy the Lost. He will know that the Mother will tear him apart!” 

This then was the Lost. This mage. Maker, the ones in the Wending Wood had taken names as well, she recalled, and her mouth twisted in a grimace. Whatever this faction war was, the Architect had lost control of his creations.

 _Who in the Void is the Mother?_

The Lost glanced to the golem then, which hoisted the other darkspawn high and then tore him brutally in half, casting aside the legs and the torso in a shower of blighted blood. And then the Lost grinned and turned towards her.

“And who comes now?” it asked. Eideann glanced to the golem, then the Lost, and sneered. And then the creature said something odd. “I can feel you.” She paused. “But you are no darkspawn.” It could feel her? She shuddered. Maker, there was still something there. She could not sense it, but it could sense her? Perhaps the Blightsong was not the only thing tying them together. She narrowed her eyes. “What trickery is he planning?!”

 _What makes me different from him?_ she wondered. The Lost reached for its staff, clearly thinking she was another of the Architect’s creatures. She was not, the Blightsong still echoing in her head, the call of the Old Gods. 

And it hit her then what it was that made them different, what lingered in her that this darkspawn did not have:

Archdemon blood. Part of the Joining. And if it could still sense the Archdemon blood within her…

 _They are not completely Awakened. They will still hear the call of Archdemons. They just will not seek them out._ The Architect’s plan…

She brought her blades up. 

“You will die,” the Lost spat, “as all who serve the Architect will die. The Mother demands it!” 

“I don’t,” Eideann said fiercely, “serve the Architect. And your Mother is next!” And then she charged. 

The golem swung, and Oghren caught the brunt of it, battleaxe sheering through the metal as Eideann rolled clear. She came up before the creature. 

_Kill the mage first,_ she thought, old habits kicking in, and went straight for the Lost instead. With no Alistair there to smite the creature down, it was on her to bring it toppling.

Arrows peppered past her, some catching the creature, others deflected with a forcefield that roiled as close as it was. It was Blight magic, she recognized now, the twisting tainted poison of it so close it made her head hurt. She slashed down and the creature had to dance clear, losing the spell. Thank the Maker for small mercies. 

Sigrun slid in beside her, darting like a rabbit loose in a field, too quick to follow. The darkspawn was having the same problem, and Sigrun’s axes found their mark, hacking through the creature’s arm and severing it mid-spell. There was a flash of light from the dying, and then the shriek of stone pummeling metal as Velanna went wild against the golem.

“Lightning!” Eideann called to the mages. “Hit it with lightning!” It had been the only thing she had seen work before, when Shayle’s crystals had flared purple and crackled with white-hot energy. 

Anders answered, lighting arcing through the chamber, real lightning this time not crystal fed, and the golem charged him instead. Eideann could not turn to help. She had to leave it to Oghren. 

She barely evaded a spurt of fire as the Lost regained his magic, flailing with its remaining arm, and then she stepped into range, took the burning flame on the metal of her armor with a scream, and hacked the creature’s head from its shoulders. Blood fountained, splattering, and she shoved Sigrun clear so the Legionnaire would not get caught in the toxic substance. She ended up with it mostly on herself, a spray of acidic blood that made her wince and burned against her flesh. 

The golem was still attacking. Sigrun charged for it. Eideann wiped the blood from her face so she might be able to see better, and then followed suit. 

It had her mages in a corner, despite Velanna’s barrage of stone and Ander’s fierce rock. Nathaniel had drawn his half-sword, desperately boxed in with them, and Oghren was doing his best to defend the pack.

Keenan was clear, aiming his crossbow, but not quickly enough. The golem hammered down, knocking all three of her Wardens aside, scattering them across the stone. Eideann roared, diving in, and Sigrun went with her, and they beat at the metal until at last Velanna gave a cry. 

Eideann dragged Sigrun down just in time as a mountain of rock swarmed upwards and battered the golem backwards, and then pummeled it down over and over. Its metal tore, ripping the creature wide open, and bent, and then the light in its eyes slowly died. It twitched, creaking, and then lay still. Eideann stared a moment, panting, before rising and wincing at new bruises and her burned arm under the Warden plate. And then she reached to help Sigrun to her feet, the Legionnaire wincing too. 

Her eyes fell on her Wardens.

“No! Dammit no! Wake up! Wake up!” She saw Anders bent over Nathaniel’s form, bleeding from a headwound he could not care about. Velanna’s magic was washing over her own form as she quivered against broken bones, shaking. Keenan hurried to her side to help, and Oghren limped forward, staring at Anders over Nathaniel.

Nathaniel himself was not moving. Eideann closed the distance between them in a matter of moments.

“Anders!” she cried. “Do something!” 

“I can’t!” he cried, and then bent further over. “Maker, don’t you die on me!” Blue light flooded the chamber, something so intense Eideann had to turn away. And then Anders gave a weak gasp, and she looked back in time to see Nathaniel take a breath. “Oh thank you! Maker, thank you!” Anders cried, literally crying now, tears on his cheeks. He bent over Nathaniel, pressing him down, pouring the last of his mana into the man. Nathaniel gave a cough, then a groan, and then at last his eyes opened.

“An…ders…?” Anders was on him in moments, sobbing as he kissed him full on on the mouth.

“You’re alive,” he said fiercely. “Thank the Maker. Lie still, dammit!” And he set to work, shoulders shaking with the effort and the emotion, as Nathaniel blinked up at him. 

Velanna gave a sharp cry, and there was a crack, as she reset her own arm. And then she leaned into Keenan a little, sobbing and shaking as her own magic worked to knit together the bone deep inside. 

“Anders, if you can…” Eideann said softly, glancing to Velanna, whose magic was spluttering from the effort of burying a golem into stone. Anders nodded, turning from Nathaniel a moment and crawling across the stone towards Velanna to check her over. Nathaniel, wincing, sat up slowly. 

He seemed a bit better. Whatever Anders had done had helped. But now her mages were drained and she had no place for them to rest, and still they had the broodmothers to deal with. Nathaniel would be alright in awhile but he was still shaken from the impact, and Oghren’s limp was not getting any better.

What a mess. She glanced to Sigrun, who gave her a quiet look that said she had read the same thing.

“We can’t go back,” the Legionnaire said. 

No. There was only one way. Forward. Eideann looked back to Anders, Nathaniel, Velanna, and Oghren.

“Stay here,” she said, her voice quiet.

“Commander!”

“I _said_ stay!” Eideann said, her voice so full of venom it caught them all off guard. “Keenan, with me. Bring Lucan.” And then she turned her back.

“Cousland!” she heard Nathaniel call. “Where the Void are you going! This is suicide!” Eideann just ignored him, jaw set.

“Sigrun,” she said, glancing to the dwarf who fell into step beside her. “Ready to die in the Deep Roads?” The dwarf just gave a grim little smile, eyes shining.

“Commander,” she replied softly, “I thought you’d never ask.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oghren comes to terms with his fears; Eideann and her party bring down the broodmothers; Eideann and her team try to work out the best way to the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: violence, gore (broodmothers), self-hate (Oghren POV), language (Oghren)
> 
> Comments always welcome. :)

He could taste bile in the back of his mouth. Pain raced up his leg. He had borne the brunt of an attack from the golem on that leg alone, and had been found wanting. He would suffer for it now, and probably later.

But at least he was not going with them. At least there was that.

 _Nug-humping son of a whore,_ he thought angrily. _Sodding coward._ He knew what waited ahead. He had seen it in Eideann Cousland’s eyes. A brief moment, an exchange between them. Here, after so long, a reckoning, and he could not meet it. 

He turned his head and spat the bile from his mouth, giving a hiss, damning himself for not even having the stones to carry on. He did not need to stay behind. He could have limped along after them. He was Warrior Caste, or had been, and Warrior Caste did not run, sod it! But when Eideann had met his gaze across the chamber, that fire in her eyes like when she had decided someone needed a good killing, she had read into him, like she had the other week when Felsi had come to visit. She knew the look in his eyes then. 

Fear. 

Sodding fear. Ancestor’s tits, he was a worthless piece of - 

“Aren’t you going after them?!” came the shrill voice of that harpy of a prancy elf, flinging fire around with her voice since she could not manage real fire in that moment. Oghren clenched his jaw, then gave another low growl, which became a roar of anger and outrage and hate. He hurled his battleaxe down to the stone, and the clanging echoed about the chamber. And then he limped towards the door a few steps. 

And no farther. How could he? 

He looked at those darkspawn grubs, and he saw Hespith. He looked at the tainted filth that coated the stone, and he saw Layrn. And he saw two hundred of his family torn apart, twisted into monsters, because of what Branka had done.

“SOD IT!” he cried, flinging himself at the wall, slamming his fist into the stone. It hurt, maybe even broke something, but what did he care? A washed up rock-licking warrior, too broken to even go forward with the only thing he knew he could do: fight. If he could not even fight. 

His injured leg got the better of him, and as he stepped back from the wall, it crumpled under him. He hit the stone with such an impact it made him dizzy. His hands slapped into the ancient flagstones beneath him, barely breaking a fall that rightly should have broken his sodding face. Sod it. Sod all of it. Fucking blighted son of a sodding bastard nug-humper whore! 

“Get up!” he heard Velanna insist. “Mythal’enaste, get up! They could end up killed! You’re the only one who can help! We can do something about your leg - !” A wash of fear chilled him instantly. His entire body went numb. He lay on the stones, face turned away from them all, hating everything, wishing he could kill every sodding thing. If the dress-wearing mages fixed his leg, he would have to go. 

Eideann Cousland knew him for a coward. She knew why too. She had been there, murdered her way through his sodding House, and then murdered his sodding wife, who had done the whole thing for some stupid, sodding - 

_Branka._ He curled his head down into the stone and squeezed his eyes shut against the prickling that suddenly stabbed at them. _I need…_ That was easy. He knew what would make all that rage and despair go away. _I need a drink._

 _Get up,_ a different voice said, or maybe just the part of him he did not often listen to. _Get up, Duster, and show them Oghren’s a man._ He gritted his teeth and pushed himself up onto his knees. His hand knocked his battleaxe and he reached, closing his fingers about the handle, using it to force himself up.

“What in the Void is the matter with you!” Velanna spat, and he glanced to her, keeping his anger down low to simmer until he could turn it on a worthier target.

“Shut the sod up, she-elf, or I’ll shut you up myself,” he growled, and then, using his battleaxe as a crutch of sorts, limped his way across the chamber towards the others. 

Rendon Howe’s little nugget had his back to them all, though he had managed to sit up. Blood caked his long black hair under a mismatch of hastily tied bandages that the frilly mage had fished out of his pack. Headwounds. Nasty business. Oghren glared at the back of his head a moment, then sniffed. He would have to keep an eye on the sodding ray of sunshine, make sure the blighter stayed put and did not try to get up or enact some other sodding brilliant plan. All of this was a fucking mess.

“You are a coward,” Velanna said, her voice cold. Oghren’s could be colder. But right now he was trying just to contain his own rage. Yes. He was a sodding coward. What did she want from him?! A written admission?! How could she ever understand what lay beyond those doors was for him a worse nightmare than any of the...the dreams...that they woke up screaming to in the middle of the night?! She knew nothing of the Deep Roads. But it did not stop her from having her ever fixed opinions on the topic.

“They need help, and you won’t go!” she spat. She could not rise, but Oghren could see from the look in her eyes that she would have been pacing if she could. She would have been racing after them if she could too. More fool her. He knew that look as well, that judging, calculating, vicious look. 

_Branka, leave me the sod alone._

“You’re a Grey Warden!” she accused. “You’re supposed to kill darkspawn! You can’t do _anything_ else, apparently! So what in the Void’s name _do_ you actually do, Durgen’len?!” 

It bubbled up. It spilled out. He could not rein it in. All the hate, all the rage, all the anger, all the grief, all the desperation, all the shallow walls that held it all back. 

“Shut your sodding gob, woman!” he roared. “You don’t even know what a broodmother is! You have _no_ idea what is in that room! And if you did, you’d be sodding _pissing_ yourself!” 

“At least I’m not cowering like a child!” she shot back. He rose above her, fury etched in lines of decades’-trained muscle. She was like a stick. He could snap her in half. He snarled.

“One day, she-elf, you’ll see the eyes of your sister staring back at you from atop a writhing mass of tentacles and Blight, and then you’ll sodding _know_! When your sodding Seranni is pumping out darkspawn slugs on a diet of tainted corpses, and it falls to you to sodding kill her, then we’ll see how you manage!” He let his battleaxe fall, his weight on his good leg, which was shaking from the effort of supporting him. “Eideann sodding Cousland can think what she likes! She knows I’m not going a step further! This entire blighted place should be left to rot!” 

“You…you…” Velanna was shaking, and pale as a sheet. Oghren glared at her, too angry to care that this was news. Because she needed it. She needed to know. It would be her sodding sister. Sod it!

_I hate you, Branka._

“Enough.” Rendon Howe’s little blighter had the sort of voice that could turn milk into cream, and Velanna did settle a little. But Oghren was a berserker, and anger was his trade. Ferocity channeled into violence. 

“Blighted son of a whore!” he roared. “It is not enough! It’s never sodding enough! Look around you, and tell me, Howe, if you think this will _ever_ be sodding enough! The Blighters are here to stay! And we will all die in this filth, this rot, like hundreds of thousands before us! I am not meeting my death today, no matter what Eideann sodding Cousland thinks of it! I owe her no more favors!” 

“You owe her nothing!” Nathaniel said fiercely. “But you do owe it to yourself, for the Maker’s sake, to shut the fuck up!” It was the first time Oghren had heard the little blighter curse. He almost grinned at that, and then his leg gave way and he toppled again, landing heavily on his backside this time and then settling with a wince to work off his greaves and inspect the damage. About sodding time. Nathaniel was glaring at him with eyes like silverite, not the ore but the liquid after Branka had melted the sodding stuff down. It stank to the surface and back, but it shone like silver then, and the hiss and steaming as she molded it into something worthwhile. A hunk of rock turned into something with purpose. A sword, or a shield, or armor. A weapon or maybe defense. 

She had told him once she would do the same to him.

 _Fuck you, sodding harpy,_ he thought, hanging his head. _What about Laryn? What about Hespith? Everything you loved you destroyed._

He was no different. A broken man, shattered in her wake, like she had taken her hammer and battered them all out of shape into sodding bits to pick up or sweep away. How many times had he watched her smash that hammer against steel or iron, forge something useful? It was the whole reason they wed at all. Marry a smith caste girl, like we told you, think of the things we can create together. Think of the good it will do.

 _Branka is dead._ It was a that quiet part of him he did not listen to. _Ancestors, give me alcohol. Make it go away._

“Oghren, let me look at that leg.” Anders had crawled over to him, foppy mage still in daft robes bearing the Warden insignia. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his sodding eyes like he had stayed up all night. Sodding Duster could hardly make it through a single fight. Ancestors’ tits they were in for a whole slew of sodding nug droppings if this was the best that these Wardens could do. The darkspawn might as well already have won.

 _Eideann Cousland will never let that happen,_ that quiet voice said again. He shook his head, and Anders settled back, weaving a thin strain of magic as best he could, too tired for anything else. It was enough of a shock that he jolted from his anger into cool numbness as the magic poured through his leg. Sodding...Blighted...Fuck, it hurt. He bore it, grinding his teeth against the pain, wishing for brandy or whisky or lichen ale to numb it. But it also helped. Something shifted, enough he gave a stangled grunt of pain, unable to hold it in, and then eased slightly. Still sore. Still hurt. All that Anders could do, though. Sodding fop of a mage. 

“Useless,” Oghren grumbled. “Can’t even sodding fix things. Surfacers and magic…” Anders drew back, his look solemn, and he was panting a little like he had been for a very sudden, very rapid run. 

He let his mind trickle back to Eideann, remembering the look in her eyes. It was the same look she had had when they finally had found Branka. That fierce roaring flame, forges and stone, like the lava lakes that churned beneath Orzammar. All that fire channeled into something deep and angry and righteous….cleansing flame. That is what it had been. The heat rather than the burn, the light rather than the pain. A way forward. It had charged his soul, made him reach for what was right.

She had seen the fear in him. She had seen the grief heavy on his soul. The last few weeks he had come to realize she knew him well enough to know the lines on his face were creases caused by pains, and the shattered soul that hid below the surface was shrouded in a cloak of rage. She had brought that cloak down a little, forced her way through, told him to stop making a mess of his life. Told him that she needed his help.

And then she had met his eyes there, across the chamber, and seen the fear, and turned away. He had let her go on alone.

 _She knew that though._ After Laryn, when she had emptied her guts across the cavern floor, insisted that her pike-twirling lover never let her end up like his cousin...there had been a silent exchange between them. She had drunk as much as him to numb it, and then she had brought him with her to the surface, given him a chance at a new life. And he had...what? 

_Squandered it._ He drew a breath, then closed his eyes. 

_Felsi._ He had been a fool to think he could go back to the way things were before Branka. Branka never forged a thing that did not hold its form. She was a master at twisting things into new shapes, and he and all the others were tools to her, made and discarded when she felt they were no longer of use. Felsi had never been like that. Those days, before Branka, before the drinking, before he had killed that sodding whelp of a lad in a fit of rage...Felsi had been gentle. And he was all rough edges now. She was better off without him. 

Rough edges were dangerous. And that was the part Eideann sodding Cousland saw. She saw those rough edges, and she acknowledged them. Sod it, she had enough of her own to recognize them. But she was still young, and the world had not managed to trample her into dust yet. Oh yes, he had joined the Wardens because it was there, fighting the Blight, battling the darkspawn at her side, that he had felt like himself again. Felsi was sweet, and sod it, he would always love her, but he was too jagged to do anything but hurt her. Eideann read his anguish like it were the plainest sodding thing in the world.

 _I see a man who is frightened of what this future is,_ she had told him. His future…

She had gone to face the broodmothers alone. He had let her go, or rather she had let him stay. But if anyone could do it down a few hands and tired, it was that Duster. 

_Made herself Queen, didn’t she? And waltzed right up to the Archdemon and laughed._ Or he liked to think she had. Oh yes, Eideann Cousland knew enough about broken men. And her rage at Branka, that righteous fire that had burned so bright he could not turn away from it, had been a new way forward. 

_I am a sodding coward,_ he thought. _But I don’t have to be. And she believes that. More than I do._ She had left him to hold her city gates, after all. 

“We can’t just let them die,” came the quieter voice of the elf mage again. Oghren glanced over to her with flat eyes, and she met them. And he saw the fear there. Eideann had seen the rough edges in that girl too, after all. He shook his head.

“Eideann Cousland,” he told her, “has more stones than a golem. And that brand, Sigrun, has spent her life killing darkspawn and broodmothers.” That was right. It was not the first time that Sigrun and Eideann had left him in the Deep Roads. After Bownammar they had gone off to explore a lead to the north and sent him with Alistair and Kardol’s Legion on to Orzammar. She had made it out of that one fine. “They have more sodding luck between them than a Duster cheating at Diamondback.” Velanna narrowed her eyes.

“The alternative,” Rendon Howe’s blighter said in his low voice, “is to be in the way. We’re all injured. I couldn’t stand up if I tried. Oghren has tried twice. Anders crawled over there to do basic maintenance, and you’ve still got broken bones. If we try to go now, we will be a distraction they cannot afford.” And of course there was that. Sodding strategists and their sodding strategies. Oghren sniffed. 

“Commander knows what she’s sodding doing,” he grumbled, like Velanna would listen. She-elf was too sodding up herself to pay much attention to Duster trash like him, but it kept his mind busy to speak. “We hold the sodding line. We know there are more darkspawn down here. We hold this position. Simple as that.” It was, really, in a manner of speaking. He thought of the old days, before Branka, back when he had worn the dwarven plate and headed into the Deep Roads to drive the darkspawn back. Ancestors, he had been sodding proud of that. _That_ was Oghren. The bulwark. The defense. He settled into it.

 _Defend the gates; hold this position; I need people I can count on at my back._ She had told him that day in the study, while he was raging and Felsi was sobbing her eyes out or whatever she did in his absence, that she was relieved to see him in Amaranthine. Eideann Cousland wanted that defense. She trusted it. And he owed it to her to keep it. She had given him the chance to stay back, to avoid those chambers up ahead, and she had done it because he needed it. In return, he would hold the line there. And if things went sodding wrong…

“We hold the sodding line,” he told them then, all three of them. He was the veteran here, after all. Sodding blighters should listen to him. “When the mages have their stones back, we’ll move on and bring up the rear. But we are no use to anyone as sodding Duster trash.” Anders sighed, settling back and curling his arms about his knees, rocking a little on the flagstone. 

“Are the Deep Roads always like this?” he asked. 

“Ancestors tits, yes,” Oghren spat, and then winced as another wave of magic slowly trickled into his leg, sending chills through him once more. “Get used to it, Warden. It doesn’t get any sodding better.” Anders grimaced, and Oghren settled back, eyes narrowing as he peered into the ceiling. 

Not for a thousand years had it gotten better. But at least they were fighting. They would not lay down and die. They would carry on. Even the broken ones could carried that strength forward. Even his shattered soul could wield his axe. 

_When from the blood of the battle the Stone has fed, let the heroes prevail and the blighters lie dead._

****

Down in those depths, she learned again who she was. 

She had come to Amaranthine in search of answers, in search of solace, a return to the original question: _who is Eideann Cousland_? In the Blight she had put Eideann away, become the Warden, and then the diplomat, and then the Queen, and then the Hero. And now, at long last, here she was just Eideann.

With Sigrun at her side, Keenan at the other, a dog in tow: strangers in a strange world, at last alone with her thoughts. Here, then, she had rediscovered the Eideann she had left in the depths of Soldier’s Peak after Ostagar. Here she had found the Flame of Highever, and it burned bright and fierce and angry. 

_You will never take Amaranthine. You must come through me first._

She was dedicated, passionate, fierce, and a little wild. She was the woman who had once been the girl who had battled her own suitors to shame them into leaving her be. She stood alone before the darkness of the world and then danced her swordplay and politics until the world danced for her instead. She was all the power of fire, all the rage, and the ancient line of the Couslands beat in her blood, strong and determined. 

_A Cousland always does their duty first._

_You are Eideann Cousland._

She hacked her way through the broodmother tentacles that were slowly creeping up through splits in the stone down the long corridor and amidst the darkspawn filth. They had been people once too, those broodmothers, twisted and turned. They had lost themselves. 

_I will bring you peace._

She sliced clean through another tentacle, clearing the way, watching as it slithered off back into the depths. And then she stepped forward, armed with Duty and King’s Justice, her eyes burning with cold flame. On her finger her silverite and iron ring was hard and cold and a constant reminder of what she still stood to lose. 

Fergus and Alistair, her family. All of Ferelden, her people. Thedas, her entire world.

 _I will never surrender._

The chamber opened up into a wide, vaulted room, slime coating the floors and walls and tentacles creeping up from the center where a giant pit was dug deep into the hall. Above, a ball of glowing light, lyrium perhaps cast in sharp iron, hung suspending, casting the chamber into a brilliant cascade of ethereal blue. Eideann set her jaw and danced through the tentacles on the balls of her feet, twirling and twisting and making a path towards the edge of the pit. 

The last time she had seen a broodmother, she had vomited all over the ground. And then she had made Alistair swear to kill her himself before it could ever happen to her. And then she had subjected herself to the numbing powers of Oghren’s fiery liquor collection, allowing herself a small moment of escapism in the midst of such horrors. 

That was when Eideann as a person had clashed with Eideann as a Warden. Now they moved as one. And this time it was different.

Below, down in the pit, four writhing broodmothers, once dwarves by the look of them, roiled and roared and screamed into the darkness with corrupted tongues and throats the anguish and pain their minds could hardly remember. Eideann gazed down on them all, blighted mothers of a blighted horde, twisted and poisoned and toxic. And she gave a small, mirthless smile. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. 

Sigrun drew up alongside her, face contorted with disgust. She gazed on them a moment, then drew back, swallowing hard, and Eideann did not need to look at her to know she had been forced to turn away. Eideann did not look away. This was why they were here. To end this, to end them. And everything else came afterward. 

“Four,” Sigrun said softly, shaking her head.

“Four,” Keenan confirmed, loading his crossbow. “The plan, Commander?” Eideann was quiet a moment, considering the monsters below. She could have been one. Perhaps, in a way, she was. She shuddered at the thought, shoved it violently away.

 _The Blight can take my sanity, my strength, and my life, but it will never take this,_ she thought to herself, a single light in her bleak, grey world. She walked the narrow edge between the light and the shadow, the shining goodness and the depths of evil, and she was tired.

“We kill them,” she finally said. Her eyes tracked up towards the giant orb of lyrium cyrstals and metal, and she nodded to it. Her companions followed her gaze.

There was a cock-sure sort of amusement to Sigrun’s voice as she gave a soft laugh.

“Drop it on their heads,” the Legionnaire muttered, giving a twisted little grin. Eideann glanced to her, then nodded. 

“We’ll have to break the chains,” Keenan said quietly, considering the supports where the orb was bolted down. Those chains were thicker than their bodies. It would take a miracle to pry them loose and break the links. If that was even possible at all. They were coated in blighted growths too, entwined across the metal like an outer shell.

Eideann closed her eyes a moment, then nodded, glancing to Keenan. 

“Once we make our move, those tentacles will be back. They run through the entire keep. They’ll come for us. Hold them back,” she told him, a simple sort of order, but very complicated to meet. But the man nodded, Maker bless him, his eyes a cool and quiet confidence. She glanced to Sigrun. “You and I are going to bring that thing down.” 

“How though?” Sigrun asked simply. Eideann smirked. 

“Those chains,” she said, nodding to the nearest, “are covered in Blight, and there’s one thing I know about Blight, it eats its way through things. Those chains are a thousand years old. The coating is probably hiding a brittle surface. And we have something that can get through.” 

“What’s that?” Eideann hefted King’s Justice. 

“The Architect could not touch this sword. It…it repels the Blight.” She gave it a swing and the nearest tendrils crept back, slipping away as the runes across the sword glittered a deep amber. “It’s enchanted dragonbone. It can get through. Or else nothing can.” 

“They won’t just…sit there,” Sigrun said.

“You’re guarding my back,” Eideann added, and Sigrun gave her a simple nod.

“You got it, Commander,” she said in her usual chipper self, and then proceeded to adjust her grip on her axe hafts, eyes narrowing to sharp little points of light in the darkness. Eideann glanced to Keenan.

“Be ready to move,” she said, and then stepped back, moving at a cautious pace through the slime towards the first of the chains.

The broodmothers knew they were there. They were waiting. What they were waiting for, Eideann did not have the time to find out. Her people were back in the tunnels behind her, and hopefully Oghren was doing alright. She was worried for them, and worried for Amaranthine, and trying to work it all out now was a mess. She narrowed her focus. There was only one thing. That chain and anything in her way.

She dove in.

Her blade found the first of the broodmother tentacles wound about the chain. It was hewn in half in a single stroke, and below one of the creatures gave an unearthly scream. A mass of tentacles lurched from the pit, rising up to tower over her, undulating and writhing until Eideann met them with blades.

One began to wrap about her, trying to catch her up and throw her into the pit. Sigrun saved her that fate, hacking the thing apart.

“Now, Commander!” she cried. “Go!” Eideann needed no second urging. She swung into action, hurtling through the darkspawn filth, slippy as it was, and driving towards her goal: the first of the chains.

It took a good five strikes to finally break through with King’s Justice, but the sword held up, dragonbone stronger than ancient dwarven metal under heavy corrosion. Chains that had been undisturbed for a millennia suddenly shifted, mechanisms long since rusted over groaning as they bent, and then Eideann kicked at the chain, threw her whole weight against it, and the thing gave. 

Slowly at first, a creak, prying the link apart, until at last a final shove that sent a jarring impact through her leg resulted in the swing the link needed to snap. It split across it the corroded edges, snapping in two, and Eideann had to hurry back as the chain whipped up, almost hitting her. She dragged Sigrun down with her, and they both covered their heads as the chain spun on its barrel, feeding out. Above the pit, the lyrium orb lurched with a horrible metallic creak like the sound of shorn armor. Eideann gritted her teeth, and Lucan gave a whine, then a howl. Below, in the depths, the broodmothers began to panic.

A hail of crossbow bolts peppering down, keeping the tentacles at bay as Eideann heaved herself and Sigrun up and then made for the next chain. There were four to hold it, but the thing was so massive, seemed so heavy, was so old and corroded that weakening the supports might bring it down without having to cut through all three. She wrapped her aching fingers about her hilt tighter, sheathing Duty and taking up King’s Justice in both hands for the added impact. 

This one she would bring down in three strokes, not five. 

Sigrun darted about, a shadow in darkness, here then there and slamming herself through the tentacles as Eideann made a beeline for the next chain. This was less encrusted, the first chain’s destruction shaking loose some of the corrosion. The metal here was pitted and worn.

But the broodmothers were ready. Tentacles rose again, defensive, and the shrieking in the pit made her head hurt. She forced it away, forced away the Blightsong – Maker, it was driving her mad – and focused again on only the chain.

A tentacle shot up, aiming straight for her. Lucan got in the way, tackling it and wrestling it down with strong warhound jaws like he had been trained to it. Never fearless, those mabari. Eideann’s heart went out to Angus, but she pushed the thought away, aimed for the corrosion of the chain, and swung again.

Once. Twice. On the third it creaked and then Sigrun threw her weight at it, Legionnaire axes whirling, weakening, prying it up and out. And then they were dancing back out of the way again as the tentacles rose up higher and the chain snapped, spinning out of control and whipping across the chamber, dangerous flailing that could kill them all if it hit them. 

The orb above them lurched again. 

_One more. Just one more._

She was covered in slime from hitting the ground earlier, covered in darkspawn blood from cutting her way through Kal’Hirol, and tired. And she was angry.

And she was Eideann. 

_I will not let you have anymore!_ she thought, to the Blightsong itself perhaps, or all the darkspawn as a collective whole. And then she dove for the next one, barely missing the tentacles of the desperate broodmothers. 

They were calling, crying out. It echoed like tidal waves through the Song in her head. But there were no more darkspawn left to hear, no more darkspawn that could come. 

Her head was splitting. She gave a roar, all the pent up frustration and anger and fear and desperation of those last few days gathered together into a single worldess sound, and threw herself, Sigrun at her side, at the final chain.

It gave, and Eideann was knocked back by a tentacle as the chain tore free. The metal careened through the broodmother’s tentacle, battering it away, probably saving her from being dragged down. And then the orb gave a final earsplitting lurch, old metal creaking and then tearing apart.

And the entire thing came down. 

“RUN!” Eideann roared, clamboring to her feet, hauling Sigrun along with her, giving a high pitched whistle to get Lucan clear. She could not breathe, could not think, as the giant orb of pure lyrium cystals gave crashing down towards the pit. It was too large to fit the pit itself. It hit the sides, splintering into a thousand shards like a sphere of toxic glass, and showering them all in pieces that cut at their flesh. Eideann dove clear, covering her head and face with her hands, Lucan giving a painful squeal in her wake. Sigrun hit the slime beside her, screaming. Somewhere, Keenan was hurtling to his own shelter. 

And the broodmothers. Maker’s blood. Their dying cries were nothing like Laryn, who had been ended so quickly and suddenly she had not had the time to scream. These broodmothers did. She felt them in her head, one by one winking out like fires suddenly extinguished. The screams echoed up into the chamber, catching on the tinkling hum of the lyrium shards, and sending her head spinning into chaos. Eideann gritted her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to will it out. 

Maker, she was going insane.

And then, suddenly, it was over. Stopped. The Blightsong died with the last broodmother, and it was finished. 

The lyrium still hummed, a hum that gave her a headache, but in little splinters it was nowhere near as harmful. It had seemed to amplify the Blightsong in her head, maybe not in reality, but all the singing and the humming…

She carefully pushed herself up, arms and face and hands cut by lyrium, and felt a little sick. Exposure perhaps? She hoped not. Lyrium poisoning was not a good way to go. 

She brushed the shards clear, grimacing, and realized she was shaking a little. Sigrun, down beside her, slowly looked up, blinking, confused, and then sighed, meeting Eideann’s eyes with a look that seemed surprised to even be alive. 

“Is…is it done? Are they dead?” she asked, and Eideann nodded.

Lucan was peppered with shards too, but Eideann’s whistle had spared him the worst, and most had been caught in his thick mabari fur rather than actually do any injury. He had a cut across his nose now, that made him look imposing. Eideann carefully bent to check it, then sighed, convinced he was alright, and looked for Keenan.

The man was sitting against the far wall, bloodied and bruised, panting, still covered in the shards. He stared at her, eyes wide, as confused as Sigrun to have survived it, and then slowly gave a soft smirk and a little laugh.

“Andraste’s tits, let’s not do that again soon, Commander,” he finally said, when she crossed to help him rise.

“No promises,” she replied with a small smile, holding out a hand. He took it, wincing as he rose to his feet. She checked he was alright before carefully bending to retrieve Kings Justice from amidst the slime, grimacing at it before carefully sliding it into its sheath and hoping it would not stick that way. And then she glanced to the pit again, shaking her head.

“We did it,” Sigrun finally said, crossing to join them. “If the rest of the Legion were alive to see it…” Eideann glanced to her, then gritted her teeth.

“I’m sorry so many were lost in this place,” she said softly. Sigrun gave her a somber look.

“I used to wish,” she said softly, “that I could get away from the others.” She glanced back to the pit, crossing her arms. “Now I’m all alone and I just want them back. Silly isn’t it?” Eideann shook her head. She knew that pain, the old pain, Highever and Ostagar and everything in the days between echoing back at her across time. 

“No. Not even a little.” Sigrun gave her a quiet little smile of thanks, then sighed, perplexed.

“What’s curious,” she said, switching the topic before the sting could sink too deep, “is that we seem to be caught between two factions of darkspawn.” Eideann nodded. Behind them, Keenan was checking Lucan over again, just like she would have done if it were Angus instead. Sigrun glanced to the Warden and his dog a moment before shaking her head. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. The darkspawn are by nature vicious, and they have always fought amongst each other, but for there to be two organized factions…” If Sigrun had come to the same conclusion, Eideann was even more worried. A Legionnaire did not suggest such things lightly. She knew that much at least.

She thought back to the Lost, and this Mother it appeared to work for.

“The Architect and the Mother,” Eideann mused quietly, turning back to the door as Keenan rose, Lucan limping along at his feet. “I noticed it too, and it’s worrying me.” She admitted as much to Sigrun and Keenan because if she could not trust a Legionnaire and the man she had promoted to Senior Warden of Soldier’s Peak, who could she trust? Keenan gave her a somber shake of head. Sigrun fell into step beside her, sliding her axes into their holders. 

“Good, it’s not just me then. Something has changed in the darkspawn, and I don’t think I like it.” Eideann did not like it either. 

“They’re both Awakened. Perhaps they all originally were the Architect’s work, but now they’ve splintered,” Eideann murmured. “And this Mother…I don’t like the sound of that.” It made her think of the broodmothers dead in the pit below. She grimaced. 

“Well,” Sigrun said softly, “it’s something to ponder. Especially when you need to be reminded that impending doom is always right around the corner.” Yes, it was that at least, and trust a Legionnaire to see the cheerful side of impending doom. Eideann just gave a slight smile, taking the corridor back to the other chamber where her people waited, confident that Kal’Hirol, at the very least, was secured for the moment. “I should…report back to Orzammar or…probably disappear into the bowels of the Deep Roads never to be seen again,” Sigrun said softly. Eideann shook her head, glancing sidelong to her as they picked their way through the darkspawn slime. It would take a thousand workmen to scrub even a bit of those halls should King Bhelen send men to reclaim it. And what they would find…Maker, the treasures in Kal’Hirol alone were invaluable. 

“One good thing about the Deep Roads,” Keenan mumbled, “is you never run out of darkspawn to fight.” 

“We can only hope one day that will change,” Eideann said softly. A thought had occurred to her, and she was musing it over. Then, at last, she smiled. “Sigrun, perhaps you’d consider coming with us?” The dwarf turned, walking backwards through the slippery gore that coated the halls, her eyes contemplative as she considered Eideann more closely.

“Go?” she asked. “With you?” Eideann gave a nod. “But…that would go against my vow. And my plan to disappear into the deep, unmourned and forgotten.” Eideann gave a soft laugh.

“Twice now you and I have worked to clear out a Thaig.” Sigrun beamed.

“Your work at Bownammar was amazing, Commander,” she said. Eideann gave a gracious bow.

“I need reliable people at my side. I need Grey Wardens. Join us. That isn’t breaking your vow, is it?” Sigrun considered a moment. When she looked up again, her eyes were shining slightly with a small light.

“Is that allowed?” she asked with a small smirk. Eideann shrugged. Sigrun shook her head. “Can you be both part of the Legion and a Grey Warden?” 

“Sure,” Eideann said simply. “You’re still fighting darkspawn, and you’ll still die doing so. The territory just gets a bit bigger, and we request you occasionally exposure yourself to the sun.” Sigrun grinned, then turned back, her strides confident now.

“And I’d be more effective at killing the darkspawn, won’t I?” she asked gleefully. The spring in her step now made it all worthwhile. Eideann made her way across a slick mound of filth and then glanced back to Keenan.

“What do you think, Warden-Lieutenant? Could you use her at Soldier’s Peak?” Keenan smiled, giving a small nod, and Lucan gave a low gruff. Sigrun grinned, glancing between all of them.

“How does one say no to this?” she asked, all smiles. Her Casteless tattoos were creased on her face in her delight. “I will follow you,” she said with a singular determination. “I’ll be better off with you at my back than alone, Commander.” Eideann gave her a small smile. 

“Then it’s done. You’ll be coming to the surface with us.” If Sigrun was apprehension, she did not look it.

They found the others in various states of exhaustion. Velanna was still only partially healed. Oghren was leaning over his battleaxe, peering at his leg with somber eyes. Nathaniel could hardly stand, but Anders was at last capable of walking again, and he poured what magic and healing he could into Velanna, who did the same.

Eideann and Sigrun split off wiith Lucan then to scour the ruins for anything that might be used as a stretcher of sorts. They eventually pulled down one of the darkspawn totems, using the pikes as poles, and bracing them under a length of filthy cloth. It was the best they had though, so they returned with it in tow. Oghren needed help for walking, and given the height, Sigrun was the best bet. The Legionnaire ended up with Oghren’s arm over her shoulders, supporting his weight. Anders was able to walk, but still too weak to be much use to any of the injured. Eideann stuck him on one of the stretcher poles and ended up supporting Nathaniel herself. Between them, they loaded Velanna carefully onto the stretcher to carry, Anders walking slowly beside Lucan. Velanna herself gave them a dirty look for the stretcher, but said nothing.

And then began the long trip back up through the tunnels. And it was a very long trip. But at least they could take their time.

They made camp at the same location where they had stayed the night before, near to the old fortress gates into the second Deep Roads entrance. Eideann considered it quietly, wondering how far they were from Soldier’s Peak, and then decided that for her team’s sake, she owed it to them to get them moving that direction. 

Anders did what he could for Velanna, but with no medicinal supplies, and their own mana running incredibly short, that was very little. Eideann knew Irving and Greagoir had allowed Petra to stay behind at Soldier’s Peak to assist in the cataloguing and collection of the small library of ancient tomes there, and Petra had been Wynne’s apprentice, a skilled healer as well as formidable elemental mage. She thought briefly of their horses, but they had left them in a location that had shelter and also access to grazing, and the Amaranthine mounts were fairly placid. They would survive another day or two. She could send Seneschal Dryden’s men out to round them up of it proved necessary. 

So that evening when they were gathered, looking through their minimal supplies – how had they come so unprepared? – and peering into the flickering warmth of the campfire in the depths of an ancient dwarven ruin, Eideann told them all the plan. 

“We just have to reach the outpost. Crews have been working to secure the crossroads beneath Soldier’s Peak since the Blight ended,” she explained. “The entrance goes right to it, and Warden Riordan definitely came this way via Gwaren. I know there is access somewhere. And when we’re there…” 

“Do it,” Nathaniel said quietly, his head heavy with bandages. 

“Agreed,” Keenan said. Lucan was flopped on his side at his feet, panting softly, tongue lolling across the flagstones. Oghren gave a quiet nod, and Sigrun simply smiled. Eideann glanced to Anders. The mage just sighed.

“We don’t have a choice, do we?” he asked. “If we don’t reach the surface, we’ll starve.” Eideann gave him a flat look. It did not require confirmation, and so at last the healer gave a quiet nod. “So be it. Soldier’s Peak it is.” 

Velanna, fast asleep on the stretcher, needed the help anyway. 

With that done, Eideann curled up for first watch, just in case any of the Awakened darkspawn emerged, and thought of the letters she would need to send the moment they reached the Peak.

_Alistair,_

_It’s worse than we thought. There’s a whole war underneath Amaranthine._

Maker, what a mess.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann and her Wardens reach Soldier's Peak and reunite with a few old friends; Eideann learns some interesting information about the Architect; Sidonie and Carver meet Varric Tethras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: none
> 
> Comments always welcome. :)

The Deep Roads were damaged. Some was the work of time, to be certain, but others were due to explosives: Dworkin’s most likely when she had insisted the tunnel be sealed during the Blight, but others older markings. Oghren was the one who traced the blast zones, like he had traced Branka’s trail at Caridin’s Cross and Ortan Thaig those many months ago. Maker, it had almost been half a year. 

With the end of the Blight, Eideann had left specific instructions for those manning Soldier’s Peak to reclaim the entrance, this time with a sealed door to defend it forged by the finest smiths in Orzammar. King Bhelen had outfitted the Legion of the Dead outpost with the men needed to keep the Deep Roads clear. The dwarves had been particularly active with the fall of the Archdemon, taking advantage of the chaos amidst the darkspawn to reclaim pieces of their empire before they could be overrun again. Eideann had wanted to help with that. A secure dwarven empire meant a secure surface. And she wanted a secure surface. 

They reached the Legion outpost not too much later. She was uncertain of the time, though her best guess was a day and a half, judging from Zevran’s lyrium clock pendant. They had moved more slowly since they had to carry Velanna between them. Anders had done what he could, but mending bones took far more time, and Velanna was stubborn, which kept making her injuries worse. Her frail form had taken a beating when the golem had swung out, and Anders was so drained from whatever he had done in healing Nathaniel that he could hardly make the rest of the spells he needed. What power he had recovered, Eideann insisted be spent on fixing up Oghren’s leg so that at least he could help carry the stretcher, and then they would have an additional person available to guard. Until then, Lucan had been their only immediate line of defense, and limping as he was that too was a poor idea. 

The Legion outpost was empty now. The entire Legion had been lost at the gates of Kal’Hirol. Sigrun had been stationed there, and she looked troubled as she considered the belongings that had been left behind to be collected later: bedrolls, cooking pots, the sort of things that made up a settlement. Legionnaires were not meant to have many belongings, if any. They were, after all, already dead. 

But the lack of a Legion presence meant something else as well, and Eideann was not alone in coming to the conclusion.

“The gate will be shut, Commander,” Sigrun said. That specially smithed gate to keep the darkspawn from Soldier’s Peak. Eideann grimaced.

“Then I’ll stand outside and bang on it and yell myself hoarse until someone comes to let me into my keep,” she said frankly. “I’ve told Seneschal Dryden to keep the gates guarded, just to be safe. If he’s followed instructions, it won’t take long.” 

Sigrun gave her a quiet little smile for the image, but everyone was tired, and this fact had made it no better. It was one more obstacle between them and their destination, when all was said and done, and her Wardens were drained. 

The alternative though had been to return to the surface via Kal’Hirol’s old tunnels, and that let out in the middle of nowhere without food or water. It would be difficult to forage or hunt game in the snows, especially in an area known for sinkholes and blighted trees. What they did find could not necessarily be trusted. Their horses would have been their only transport there, and with Velanna suffering so many injuries, there was no way she could have ridden the several day journey back to Vigil’s Keep. The Deep Roads may have been more dangerous, but they were faster than the snow-packed thoroughfares above, and urgency was paramount now Eideann knew what they were up against. 

Her Wardens had taken her decision fairly well, but the last day had led to many of them growing disheartened. Eideann ignored the questioning looks, the exhaustion on their faces, since there was nothing else they could do. Turning back would be worse. She focused instead on staying confident. For awhile, though, she felt very overwhelmed, like she had in the days after Ostagar. Little plans at a time were all she could manage, small steps forward in what came next. She was forced to remind herself that decision-making was rarely a simple thing. 

_Hold it together, Cousland,_ she caught herself thinking. _They need to see you be strong down here._ The eternal question of leadership.

She wondered how Alistair was doing above, trying to win over the Bannorn. He was friendly, and likeable, and had advisors she tended to trust. She was sure he was doing just fine. He also had no secondary Civil War to contend with.

 _I thought I already ended one of those,_ she thought bitterly as she made her way through the Legionnaire Outpost, with its metal barricades and general supplies. She could use them if the doors were truly abandoned above, but it felt like stealing. This was King Bhelen’s domain, and those were the dwarven supplies. As a Grey Warden she could repurpose them, but with her own keep right above them…

The door was shut. She turned over her pole of the stretcher to Sigrun, who had been tracking for them instead, and then marched up to it, drawing King’s Justice. It still bore some of the gore from the journey, though she had tried to clean some of it off at their camp the evening before. She turned it about, until the heavy gemmed pommel was facing the metal of the door, and then she slammed it down as hard as she could, using it to hammer out a knock. The metal rang, clear and sharp, echoing through the Stone. Eideann repeated the process, over and over, several more times. 

“Maker’s blood, let me in, Levi!” she cried as loud as she could. Deep Roads critters that had invaded the Legionnaire camp in their absence skittered away at the noise, startled. Eideann let them go. 

She could hear something very faint through the door. She called again, once more.

“Levi Dryden, open the door!” 

And then there was a heavy squeak as the metal bars slid back. Something churned within the door, heavy gears that spun with the help of two men on the other side, and there was a great booming noise. And then, slowly, the doors opened inward, and there in the end of the tunnel stood Levi Dryden, with his shock of red hair and his narrow, confused gaze, clad in Ferelden Warden silver. In his hand was a crossbow, but it was not knocked, and at his side two of his hired guardsmen looked perplexed. Levi blinked at her, then looked past her, then back at her. 

“Warden-Commander.”

“Let us in Levi, for the love of the Maker. And find Petra at once.” Eideann said as the guards panicked to see her Wardens in a ragtag mess behind her. Levi motioned for them to help, hurrying off himself down the corridor for Petra, and Sigrun and Oghren helped the two guardsmen with the stretcher. Velanna gave a low curse as she was jostled on the way up again. Eideann turned to the door as the last of them made it through, and then she swung it shut herself, working with Anders to seal the gate. 

“Go with her,” she told him when that was done, “see to it they know what is going on. Petra is not immune to the taint, so see to it she’s careful.” Anders gave a weary, worried nod, and then climbed the steps up into the main keep.

It was the corridor with the guest chambers. Eideann took stock of that a moment, waiting for some of the guards to return. She did not want to leave the gate unguarded lest they had been followed by any of the darkspawn she could not sense. 

Her last trip to Soldier’s Peak had been too short to be of much use. She had simply stopped by to collect what she needed to outfit her new Wardens, gathered the Joining Chalice and equipment, and then been on her way after leaving instructions for Levi. She had not had the opportunity then to really consider the implications of being back there – she honestly had planned it in such a way. She did not _want_ to consider all that had happened there. 

In one of those chambers, Alistair and Morrigan – 

She forced the thought from her mind, and instead narrowed her gaze. The guardsmen came hurrying back not too much later, freeing her to pursue other endeavours, so she went straight to the office where Levi did his work, helped herself to the paper and ink and quill on his desk, and sank into the chair with weariness at all that had just happened. 

Now, things needed to move quickly.

She thought about writing something official, but decided against it. She was writing to Alistair, he needed the truth, official documentation could wait. 

_Alistair,_

_The situation under Amaranthine is worse than we thought. The darkspawn we could not sense that attacked Vigil’s Keep before our arrival were not an aberration but the norm. The Architect, who was behind our capture in the Wending Wood, is detached from the Blight himself. I learned from Wynne he once invaded the Ferelden Circle Tower, and that Duncan and a few other Wardens were instrumental in stopping him, but Utha, one of those Wardens, has since joined his side. Somehow, he has developed a way to break darkspawn from the Blightsong – at least the regular Blightsong. We can no longer sense them. But they still sense us, at least a little, and I suspect this to be because of the Archdemon blood involved in the Joining._

_Through this experimentation, the Architect has built himself an army, though it is not all under his control. There appear to be two factions: one is loyal to him, but the other answers to something they call the Mother. I don’t like the implications of that, and I suspect – horrible as it may appear – that we are in fact dealing with a sentient broodmother. I took my team into the Deep Roads in an area that recently opened up underneath Knotwood Hills, and there unearthed an entire nest of broodmothers at the ancient fortress of Kal’Hirol. There were also strange darkspawn caccoons, and the creatures emerging from those were unlike anything I have seen before. It was here we encountered the first of the Mother’s faction. They appear to be comprised of both Awakened and regular darkspawn – at the moment only hurlocks. If it is a broodmother leading the Mother’s faction, she has the ability to birth an entire army, and it is her will that leads them, not an Archdemon. These creatures think, strategize. For the time being our only solace comes in the fact they are busy battling each other, but how long that will last, I cannot say._

_This is the beginning of a Civil War between the darkspawn, and we are now involved. I don’t have the manpower to battle an army of thinking darkspawn. My Wardens and I barely escaped from Kal’Hirol. I have only six Wardens, myself, and a dog._

_I will travel to the Blackmarsh shortly in search of one of the Wardens that may have survived the attack at the Vigil. I have reason to suspect that he may have learned more about the situation, and I have reason to suspect he is in danger. Blackmarsh is remote and unpopulated after a disaster that occurred there several decades before the liberation from Orlais. It has a poor reputation, and seems the sort of place darkspawn might make good use of it were they to be emerging. Even if I find Kristoff, however, that will only leave me seven Wardens. The last time the Architect appeared, all but Duncan and Fiona were lost. I have written to Fiona, now First Enchanter of the Circle of Montsimmard, and hope she can provide more information, but for the time being we are on our own and time is running rapidly short. Amaranthine is indefensible from a land-attack, and has not the manpower to blanket its countryside with forces._

_If this situation is not controlled, Amaranthine will be overrun before spring. Whereever you are, strike the banners, and get us a military presence. I will write as well to Fergus, and I only pray that this message reaches you in time._

_Yours always,_

_Eideann_

She sealed it with Duncan’s daggerhilt pressed into the wax, then hastily scribbled a similar letter to Fergus. It was a week back to the Vigil, and a little more to Highever. With any luck, one of the Drydens could make the run in less time and they could have Highever troops in Amaranthine in two weeks time. 

_Maker, don’t let that be too late._

Whatever was happening under Amaranthine, it was in full swing now. The attack on Vigil’s Keep had not been an opening move, but an act of desperation, a need to get more Wardens, to get more blood, to Awaken more darkspawn. The Architect had done it to build up his forces. The Mother, whoever that was, appeared to be winning.

The Architect wanted to free the darkspawn. Eideann had no idea what the Mother wanted. And that thought scared her more. 

Her next letter was to Arl Eamon, who had remained at Denerim, and this she was careful to write officially. It was a simple message written in diplomatic terms. Denerim could not provide troops. All were needed to defend the broken capital, which had been undergoing serious repairs. She had assimilated enough of the royal guard into the Vigil’s compliment that asking for more would be impossible. This letter was a warning to Arl Eamon. Should Amaranthine end up lost, Denerim would be hit next. Eideann had no doubts about that. 

The final letter she wrote was to Fergus, and this again more personal, but because it was important, she signed it with all her titles, as presumptive as it seemed. She needed Fergus to act as the Teryn of Highever now, liege-lord of Amaranthine and all of the North. Fergus her brother would ride immediately, even if he came alone. She needed the army. She needed the forces. She needed him to summon the North.

With those things done, and trusting to her Wardens to have worked out Velanna’s situation, and to Levi to have determined where they might all sleep, she went instead up the spiral staircase to the tower where Avernus had lived for many years.

The place was still untouched. Levi had sealed the passage by decree, and she was willing to stand by that, but Avernus remained the only Warden she knew of who had deliberately dealt with the limitations of the darkspawn taint. His work, he had claimed, had been into the areas that separated blight magic from blood magic. The Architect, Eideann assumed, could use both.

But the Lost, that darkspawn emissary down in Kal’Hirol, had been using fade magic. Its spells had mimicked those of Anders or Velanna’s. It certainly felt like the darkspawn, but it was not the same as those used by regular emissaries she had encountered in the Deep Roads before. This was something else, something new. If she would find the information anywhere outside Weisshaupt itself – and even that was not given – it would be there at Soldier’s Peak in Avernus’s research notes.

It was there that Levi Dryden found her several hours later. Her fingers were sore from flipping through pages, her eyes tired from reading, and she still knew nothing else. He emerged from the steps below, unwilling to peer about the chamber – it was creepy, and she did not fault him for it. Instead, he focused on her, quietly approaching until at last she turned her eyes to him, and he gave her a quiet sigh.

“Commander,” he reported softly. “I sent the letters you left on the desk. I imagine they are urgent, so I’ve sent my two best riders.” 

“There were three letters,” Eideann said softly.

“By the time the rider reaches Highever, King Alistair’s retinue will have arrived for First Day celebrations. He was due to spend a few weeks at Highever before returning to Denerim via the North Road.” Eideann considered this a moment, then looked back to the book in her hands before sighing and nodding.

“Of course.” She closed the book, pages crackling with age and dried blood from the Wardens who had died in Avernus’s experimentation. She knew the bloody fingerprints on the pages were his.” She set it down carefully, stepping back from the table. “Maker, Levi, I’m losing my mind.” He gave a soft chuckle.

“Well, Warden, if anyone had a right to…” he murmured. His laugh was nervous though. He did not like this tower.

“Don’t clean this place out until I’ve said so,” Eideann finally said, glancing about. “We will, but not until I’ve had the chance to get someone with keener eyes than I to consider the implications of all this.” Levi nodded, looking uncomfortable, and so Eideann descended the steps of Avernus’s research platform, joining Levi by the door and motioning for him to follow her out. Best not to continue talking there. 

“I met Senior Warden Keenan,” Levi said softly as they walked. “He mentioned he would be posted here after the events in Amaranthine are…dealt with.” 

“Assuming all goes well, I want him to take over command.” Levi looked worried, and Eideann realized why all of a sudden, giving a small smile. “You’ll stay of course. Keenan prefers things simple, and he likes being among the men. He’ll appreciate the help of a good Seneschal. He will have several Wardens here, of course, probably a few that are with me now. And he will be able to recruit as necessary. The day to day operations and the funding and running of the Peak will stay in your purvey.” Levi instantly relaxed, nodding.

“I’ll see to it that my nephews are aware, and that Mikhael is also told. I imagine he’ll be seeing more work with more Wardens on the way.” Eideann nodded.

“Levi,” she said suddenly, “I wonder if you’ve had time to catalogue the storerooms yet.”

“Yes, Commander, of course.” She nodded, considering.

“It may be a stretch, but Soldier’s Peak was the base of operations here for a very long time. They must have a Joining Chalice. Did you find one?” 

“It’s not anything as pretty as that cut crystal thing you’ve been using,” Levi said simply, “but we found a rather battered looking old cup that had its fair share of bloodstains. I told the boys to leave it alone.” Eideann nodded, then glanced to him, rainy gaze quiet.

“Can you see that it’s fetched? And I’ll need a word with Petra and Anders. We have lyrium here, correct?” 

“Leftover from your army,” Levi confirmed as they finally reached the landing where his office and chambers stood. Eideann glanced in a moment, then Levi hesitated. “I…have not used the bedchamber,” he told her. “I kept it for you, just in case. It felt wrong to use it. If you wanted…” Eideann considered a moment, then finally nodded, giving a soft sigh.

“Let me deal with Petra first, and then I’ll need a bath if you might be so kind, Levi. As long as I’m not putting you out…I’ll use it.” He smiled and nodded, then directed her down towards the guest chambers where Petra was tending to Velanna. He himself went off to find the Joining Chalice he had spoken of, and the supplies they might need.

Eideann found Petra and Anders closeted in the first guest room with Velanna, who seemed to be unconscious. Travel had not been good for her, but at least they had finally made it, and Petra had been Wynne’s apprentice. She had a fair amount of skills. 

Anders sat in a seat beside the bed, face buried in his hands with exhaustion. Petra stood over the bed where Velanna lay. She had the same confident look she had worn every time Eideann had seen her. Her hair had grown a little. It was loose now, rather than pinned back like it had been, and she realized it was gentle waves of red instead of severe straight locks. They fell about her shoulders as she worked, the blue glow of magic catching on the firelight. 

“I didn’t know you had hair that long or curly,” Eideann said as she paused in the door. Petra was one of the few who had stood atop Fort Drakon with her, and there was a comraderie to that which Petra instantly responded to. The mage glanced up, a smile breaking her concentration.

“I always keep it up,” she explained. “It’s easier that way. Anywhere there was another mage in the tower with long red curls. She…ended up in some trouble before the incident with Uldred’s Uprising. It was better not to look too much like her after that.” Anders glanced up, letting his hands drop from his face into his lap, and narrowed his eyes.

“What happened to Solona?” he asked quietly. Petra’s eyes softened a little, and she glanced to him before looking away, busying herself with her spell again. 

“She…she helped a blood mage escape the tower,” she said softly. “Jowan…he apparently told her he was not doing blood magic. You…know they were close. But when the Templars discovered he had a plan to escape, they set up a trap.”

“When was this?!” Anders insisted. 

“After your escape,” Petra said quietly. There was a hardness to her voice. “They cracked down hard after that. Time to put an end to it, they said.” She shook her head. “Solona died when the Circle fell. Jowan…well, he’s not really Jowan anymore.” Anders had an angry look to his eyes now.

“They caught him,” he said. Eideann glanced between them.

“He poisoned an Arl and taught a boy to summon demons, which resulted in that boy’s death at my hands. _I_ caught him,” she said coolly. Petra said nothing. Anders simply glared at her, his eyes angry.

“And you turned him over. Didn’t you know what they would do to him?!” She simply met his stare.

“Not the point,” she said softly. “I have never been in a position to weigh a single man’s life against an entire nation.” Anders bristled, but Eideann shook her head. “You can shout and scream at me later. It does not unmake the decision, and I can explain all the reasons why it was the one I made. For the meantime, Jowan is not the pressing problem we are facing.” She glanced to Petra again then. “I was hoping you might be able to help me, both of you. We need to make up a Joining Chalice for Sigrun, and the sooner the better given what’s happening under Amaranthine.” Petra gave a quiet nod, and Anders finally nodded as well after glaring a moment more. “Thank you. I’ve got Seneschal Dryden gathering ingredients. Is everyone else resting?” Petra was the one to nod. Anders had decided he was not speaking to her for the time being. 

“Down the hall,” Petra replied quietly. Eideann thanked her, gave a final glance to Velanna, and then slipped out. She half expected Anders to follow her, but he did not. He let her be. So instead she moved along the halls. 

Some of the doors were closed, their occupants clearly crashing hard. Sigrun stood two doors down, though, peering into the room with a curious look. Eideann knocked softly on the wooden door, and the Legionnaire glanced up, surprised, then smirked.

“Nice keep, Commander,” she said simply.

“Glad you like it. You might be based here. We’ll see.” 

“If I am, is this _my_ room?!” Sigrun asked. Her voice was full of the bubble of laughter. Eideann smiled, then gave a shrug.

“Why not?” she said, and Sigrun stepped aside, beckoning for her to come in.

“I never thought,” the dwarf said, sinking into a seat on the edge of the mattress in the center of the room, “that _I_ would have a _room_.” Eideann leaned against the wall, arms crossed, considering the woman with quiet eyes. “The Legion moves around,” Sigrun explained, “and before…well…Casteless don’t tend to get much…space…”

“Perhaps under King Bhelen that will change?” Sigrun gave a wan little smile.

“Not likely. He might have a change of opinion about an aeons old system, but how many other people are going to stop calling us Brand because the King decided he doesn’t like it? Even a King cannot change an opinion, Commander.” She sighed. Eideann considered her a moment, then nodded.

“Perhaps you’re right. But if we don’t try, we definitely never will,” she finally said. Then she pushed off from the wall. “Come with me. We’re going to prepare a Joining Cup, but I wanted a word first.” Sigrun, curious, rose to her feet again. 

Eideann led her through Soldier’s Peak towards the old archives. There were tables there now, and Petra had two tranquil assistants carefully working at copying the documentation in neat handwriting into new books. A wary looking Templar stood nearby, clearly on watch. Eideann gave him a nod and he threw a soldier’s salute, bowing over his fist.

“Knight-Leiutenant Hadley, Your Majesty. An honor to meet you.” Eideann greeted him quietly. Sigrun’s eyebrows crawled towards her hairline and she did her best not to grin like a fool in amusement. Instead, she peered at the books, her eyes shining, and bent with interest over the work a Tranquil was doing in copying one.

“Wow! I’ve never seen so many books in my life,” she finally exclaimed, looking up and glancing around at the towering shelves that lined the small chamber. Eideann considered them, then smiled, reaching to examine the titles and then pull one from the shelf. Her eyes narrowed, and she carefully opened it, examining the pages.

“They’re all at our disposal,” she said simply. The book seemed recent, too recent to be from Sophia Dryden’s time. Sigrun drew alongside her with an excited look.

“This one’s a Nevarran romance,” she said, skimming another of the books from a different section. Eideann glanced sidelong to her. “Pretty spicy too from the looks of it.” She turned the page, and a look of confusion crossed her face. “What’s an Antivan milk sandwich?” Eideann pursed her lips to keep from laughing, hardly even knowing the answer herself, but not caring to from the fact this was a Nevarran romance. Sigrun read through the words, slowly, and then snapped the book shut, hurriedly putting it back, her cheeks tinged with red. She cleared her throat, glancing over to Eideann who snickered. “I’ve only read one book,” the Legionnaire admitted. “My friend Varlan taught me while we were in the Legion. He only had the one. He’s dead now. Of course…I knew it was coming. I didn’t think he’d go before me, but…shows you what I know.” Eideann tucked the book carefully back into the shelf, filing away the title for perusal later, and then turned back to Sigrun with a curious look. 

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. Sigrun gave a quiet stare.

“I am too,” she said softly. “We lost him at Bownammar before you came.” Eideann looked away, still listening, and Sigrun crossed her arms. “He was a noble once from House Vollney. I don’t know why he ended up in the Legion. He wouldn’t say.” Eideann watched as the Legionnaire shuffled her feet, gazing down at the stone floor. “I saw death take my friends, knowing it would take him as well. I fought hard to keep us both alive.” She shook her head angrily. “Varlan embraced the Legion’s philosophy that we were already dead. I…couldn’t let go like that.” Eideann considered her a moment, then drew a deep breath.

“That’s why you’re the last,” she finally said, and Sigrun gave her a bitter look.

“Survival,” she said forcefully. “ _That’s_ what matters. _That’s_ what DustTown taught me.” Eideann let that sink in a moment, then Sigrun glanced back to the shelves, letting the moment go. “If I’m going to get through all these books before the darkspawn find me,” she said, “I’d better get started.” Eideann glanced back too.

“I wonder,” she finally said, perusing the shelves again, “if there’s anything here about the Architect or other talking emissaries.”

“There is a single tome among the collection that refers to talking emissaries,” came a quiet voice behind her in a flat tone. Eideann glanced back to catch a Tranquil standing by the door. It was Emissary Pether, the man she had dealt with during the Blight, apparently there in an archival capacity. Eideann gave him a smile and he simply gave her a flat-faced nod. “The tome is located on this shelf,” he pointed, “where we have already made adequate copies.” He turned to the shelf then, skimming the titles, and then pulling one clear, holding it to her stiffly. “We would prefer to have finished more of the work. Some of the pages are damaged and difficult to work with. Other tomes are in dwarven dialects. “ Eideann took the book, its fresh binding creaking as she opened it. “This was not originally part of the Archives,” Pether told her. “It was news brought to us via the Legion of the Dead before their departure. One of them said the story was a decade old.” Eideann narrowed her gaze.

“Only a decade?” she asked softly. Within her lifetime. And a decade since Fiona was a Grey Warden as well. She glanced at the writing, then looked up in surprise. “It’s a journal.”

“The original author left it in their keeping. It is incomplete.” Pether’s voice was as flat as ever. Eideann thanked him quietly and he bowed away, returning to his task, whatever it was, and leaving her to consider the pages. Sigrun at her shoulder peered at the book in her hands.

“What does it say?” 

“We finally found Amuk alive in that passage. Still can’t believe it. The only reason I didn’t stop digging is because he had the key to the cache – but, after two weeks, I was expecting to find it on his corpse. What story does he come up with? That he was found by a darkspawn, of all things. A talking darkspawn, polite as you please, who fed him and gave him water and evidently chatted with him about surfacers. I don’t know what Amuk is thinking, coming up with a story like that, but he swore by the Dtone it was all the truth. Crazy as it sounds, I know Amuk, and he’s got the imagination of a dull hammer. Why would he make something like that up?” 

“Was it the Architect?” Sigrun asked, glancing to Eideann’s face. Eideann just shrugged, but then she made a moue at the page.

“Possibly,” she said softly. “When we were captured in the Wending Wood, he was…apologetic about harming us. It didn’t stop him, but he didn’t speak like the Awakened darkspawn. It was…strangely civil.” That thought made her uncomfortable. She hurriedly looked back down at the pages. “It continues: Reminds me of a story my grandsire used to tell, about something _his_ grandsire did. Said he once came upon a group of three darkspawn in the Deeper Roads – “

“What in the name of the ancestor’s shiny bronze tits are the Deeper Roads?” Sigrun interjected. 

“You should know better than I. You’re the one who lived down there,” Eideann said pointedly. Sigrun just shook her head, so Eideann continued.

“A group of three darkspawn in the Deeper Roads, each twice the size of any dwarf – bigger than humans, even – and dressed up like kings. He watched from the shadows and said they talked, like people, about things he couldn’t understand. A city gone black, and they blamed each other for things but could barely remember what.” Eideann’s heart went cold. 

_A city gone black?_ She paused to let that sink in. Sigrun nudged her, and she suddenly remembered the breathe. She shook her head and continued.

“My mam was like that: never remembered the slight, just that she was angry. Story goes they attacked each other, and one ran off while the second choked the third to death and then ate him. Don’t know about darkspawn having talking kings, never mind polite ones that give you food and tea, but maybe Amuk met one of them. There’s strange things in the Deeper Roads, after all, things the Shapers can’t even recall. As if smuggling wasn’t dangerous enough.” Eideann looked up. “Pether, you said one of the Legionnaires gave you this?” The Tranquil turned from his stack of books and gave a nod.

“Yes, Queen Eideann. Before your summons arrived.” Eideann grimaced, glancing at the book.

“I…I’m going to take this with me,” she told the man who carefully made a note of it on a long and neat list of titles, like she were checking it out from a library in the Circle, and then she grimaced. “Also…Pether, if you might find me any copies of the Chant of Light and records on the Black City.” 

“There are no records of the events of the Black City – ” Pether began, and she cut him off, realizing she had not been specific enough.

“I know, I know, theoretical. Just…there have to be some sources here.”

“This…Chantry,” Sigrun said. “What does that have to do with Black Cities? Why do we care about Black Cities.” Knight-Lieutenant Hadley looked gobsmacked that she had to even ask. He shifted awkwardly. Eideann glanced to him dismissively, then shook her head.

“Not sure yet,” Eideann said softly, holding up the book. “But if this is true, and that is a big if, there may be some connection here that has previously just been postulated. And…” she glanced to the book, lowering it into both hands like it was a prize to be treasured and cared for, “if this story is true, then the Architect is not alone.” 

“There’s more of him?” Sigrun said, her voice a little panicky.

“I hope not.” 

“But that one in the story ate the other.” 

“And one ran away. There’s at least two. And who knows how many more.” The thought made her sick. “First things first, though.” Sigrun grimaced, shaking her head.

“You’re the strangest human I know, Commander,” she said simply. “When you dragged me off to Cadash Thaig, I didn’t expect you to work out the source of golem-making. And then you made Bhelen King. And you killed the Archdemon.” 

“It’s Queen, actually. Commander is just…the Warden title,” Eideann said quietly, glancing one final time to the bookshelf. What other secrets lay hidden there? She needed time to look. She made a note to speak with Keenan as soon as she could about checking into further leads when possible. 

“Queen? You’re a noble?” Sigrun asked, alarmed. Eideann gave her an amused look.

“I suppose so, yes.” Sigrun grinned.

“I’m friends with the Queen of the Surfacers,” she said with a small smirk. 

“Not quite that large a scale,” Eideann replied, then motioned to her to follow her towards the main entrance hall. “Come on, time to get through this Joining. We can talk afterwards about what all of this means. And also, I want food and sleep.” 

“Those sound good. So…what’s this Joining all about?” Sigrun fell into step beside her, like she usually did, and Eideann sighed, deciding she may as well tell her.

“You’re going to drink darkspawn blood,” she replied simply. Sigrun just gave a grin.

“Oh, is that all?” she said, and clapped her hands together. “Then lead on, Queen Commander. Show me the cup and I’ll down the whole thing.” 

“Sip,” Eideann advised, shaking her head. “You’ll thank me when you wake up.” Sigrun just grinned, and Eideann sighed. Well, at least she had been warned.

***

Really it was too easy. He had spent the past few weeks following up on leads about the Hawke siblings with a few of his contacts, and really come up with the best information he could get. He had an idea now of what they were about, a pair of refugees trying to pay off Gamlen Amells bills while working a year of servitude with the Red Iron precisely because Sidonie Hawke was an apostate. This was not news to him, since there were always apostates buried within the ranks of mercenaries, and the Coterie information about Athenril’s employees had led to the story of an apostate stealing lyrium from under the noses of the Gallows Templars. Unfortunately, this had made life quite difficult for Sidonie Hawke and her other apostate associates of late. They had all of them gone to ground.

Or so he had thought, until word surfaced that Sidonie Hawke was actually out and about, trying to make ends meet any way she could. Of course, this was not public knowledge. He had learned it through very specific channels, the kind Meeran of the Red Iron would not be able to access. But Varric was the information master, with the world at his fingertips, and so he had followed a few of those leads.

He had been watching their movements personally for the last few days. Gamlen Amell’s newest abode was a hovel within the Old City Slums down in Lowtown, and Varric spent most of his time living out of his permanent rooms at the Hanged Man where he held court amidst the locals and told his stories to anyone who would listen, all the time keeping an ear out for information. 

His first run in with Sidonie Hawke, the woman who could con a Templar, was at the bar, because why would it be anywhere else.

“Hawke,” the barkeeper had said cheerfully. “How’s Meeran? Felt you up again yet?” And the look in Sidonie Hawke’s eyes at the suggestion had been more than enough to make it plain to Varric where the source of the tension between Sidonie and Meeran lay. Meeran was a womanizer, and determined to have his way with anyone he could lay his hands on. Sidonie Hawke was in his employ, an indentured servant for the duration of the year, a year his sources said was rapidly coming to an end. But she still had to feed her family, and with her refusal of Meeran’s advances, she would have earned a position on Meeran’s bad side. If she was struggling for funds, Varric respected her for it, because it took stones the size of buildings to stand up to Meeran of the Red Iron, and Sidonie was willing to do just that. 

It made him like her more.

The rest was all about the stories. His contacts told him Sidonie Hawke’s skillset was not limited to magic. She could hold her own in a polearms fight just as well, and often did. Best way to hide, as a mage, he presumed. Her brother was a neat swordsman too, but his interest was in magic, since that was what they would really like to have for their expedition, and also Sidonie seemed to be the one in charge from what he had heard.

He had also met with Athenril, after several weeks of dancing about the option, and she had admitted to him much what he had expected. The only thing Sidonie could not control was what people did with the information of her apostate identity. Meeran held that over her head, so she played her cards carefully. And Athenril had coerced her into robbing the Gallows because she knew the secret too. 

And Varric knew it. It was a card, but not one he was willing to play. 

He knew mages, was related to a few – odd as it was for a dwarf to admit that. His cousin Thorold was married to some Tevinter Magister up north. He had no fixed opinion on mages and Templars really, but he did know this much: in a fight against darkspawn, the ability to set shit on fire would probably be very useful, and a resourceful mage could make or break a team, especially a resourceful mage with the ability to wield a fearsome looking halberd. 

And also, she could hold her liquor. He watched her drink down three of the one-copper grog mugs – awful stuff really, enough to poison someone – and then casually walk out like it was nothing when others were left gasping after the first. He had followed her afterwards to see where she would go, and first it was to the Chanter’s Board to check odd jobs, and then back to the Lowtown market for food.

The next few days were much the same. He would learn where she was and see what she did. Once he followed Carver Hawke, the little brother, and found he was particularly adept at being the suffering little brother. Carver had a military background – Ferelden Army the stories said – and seemed a decent sort of boy. But he was very much a boy yet, not quite a man.

On the third day he had decided to approach them at last, broach the topic of the expedition. He was just working out how when they more or less did it for him. He almost tripped over them sitting on a Lowtown wall, backs to the rusty spikes that lined all the railings, peering over a flyer he recognized as one of the expedition postings from the various points of job distribution about the city.

“It says they’re looking to leave before First Day,” Carver said, pointing at the poster. “This…Bartrand is making his preparations in Hightown.”

“This flyer is over two weeks old,” Sidonie said with a quiet sigh. “We’ll have to be very persuasive.” Carver hardened his stance a little, stiffening along his spine.

“He has to hire us!” he insisted. “How many other refugees slew an ogre to get here?!” And ogre was an interesting tidbit, and Varric filed it away. He straightened his coat, making a beeline for them, but paused as they rose from their seats.

“Alright, Carver, but let me do the talking if he gets dicey. People have been asking questions, and Meeran’s getting antsy. I think we’re in dangerous waters here with this business, and our time is almost up. At any moment he could decide we’re more liability than benefit.” Carver gave her a glower, and then nodded at last. So they took the paths up from Lowtown then, climbing the sandstone steps to the grimy white marble of Hightown. Varric followed them, curious to see how they handled the situation, listening to them quietly bickering between themselves. 

Bartrand had rented space in Hightown for the expedition preparations near a pair of imported dwarven Paragon statues for maximum effect. The Viscount had just been glad to get his hands on some money, and the Coterie had found the idea amusing so they had allowed it. He was there as usual, crossing back and forth between cargo containers and supply arrangements, barking orders and being his usual cheerful self, when Sidonie and Carver at last caught up to him. Varric hung back then, to see how they handled themselves and making a mental note of the other people in the square.

There were a few pickpockets, one of which was terribly obvious and clearly new in his Lowtown swag, and the variety of nobles loitering about bored because there was not nearly enough excitement going on. A few of the Templars were passing through, clearly about their business. Sidonie and Carver made no notice of them – interesting. They were clearly experienced in loitering around Templars, even if they were currently on the suspected list. Eventually questions would be asked, but for the moment it seemed they were discreet enough they could still be seen in public.

Bartrand took one look at them, heard half the words of Carver’s bid for employment, and then solidified into a glare.

“No!” he said simply, turning his back on them and crossing towards another of his crates. “Andraste’s tits, human! You know how many people want to hire onto this expedition?!” The Hawke siblings simply followed him as he walked off, determined not to give up. Varric knew that look – irritation at being underestimated, but also desperation. 

“Look, we know you’re going into the Deep Roads. You’ll need to hire the best,” Carver said flatly, “and we’re – ”

“No!” Bartrand said, spinning on his heel and crossing his arms to glare up at them. Varric rolled his eyes leaning against the nearest building wall and watching the scene play out. Bartrand, always one to pass up an opportunity it seemed, but he could make this work to his advantage. “You’re too late! Already done!” 

“The money from this trip could fix _everything_ ,” Carver said. Varric shook his head.

 _Not the time to play that card, kid,_ he thought. Sidonie’s own look was dark and stormy, like she thought so too. 

“You need us!” Carver insisted. “We’ve fought darkspawn!” 

“Look, precious,” Bartrand said in a grumpy tone, stroking down his braided mustachios and shaking his head, “I don’t care if you tore the horns of an ogre with your bare hands.” Varric sighed.

Bartrand was, of course, still concerned about the money. He would not hire any more help until he could pay them, and it did not matter to him what experience they might have. Carver just waved his hands in the air in annoyance and turned away, glaring at his sister.

“You make him understand!” he spat. “We’re running from _your_ bloody Templars!” Said so loudly too. A grudge there, perhaps? It seemed that way. Sidonie gave him a glare.

“Carver, shut up,” she said fiercely, and he backed down like a dog being cowed into submission. 

“Right,” he said irritably, turning his gaze away. For a moment, it appeared he had almost seen Varric watching them, but then he carried on staring off into the distance, and Sidonie turned her gaze back on Bartrand. 

“My brother is a fool,” she said uncharitably, “but he’s right about his. We _are_ what you need.” And Varric had to agree with the assessment. Anyway, his own brother was a fool sometimes too. Like right in that moment, when he continued to deny their request. Varric sighed.

“You’re looking for a quick way out of the slums, right?” Bartrand said darkly. “You and every other Fereldan in this dump. Find another meal ticket.” And then he walked off, leaving the Hawkes standing there before the Paragon statues looking fed up. 

“Well, back to waiting for someone to turn us in,” Carver said, as they pair turned back and headed in Varric’s direction. 

“ _You_ can relax,” Sidonie replied. Her glare was gone. She was smirking now instead. “After all, the Templars dogging us are ‘mine’.” The look on Carver’s face was priceless. Crushed and also shameful. 

“Did I sound that bad?” He asked, and then to Sidonie’s nod shook his head, hooking his thumbs in his belt and kicking at the flagstones as they walked. “Maker, I’m turning into Gamlen.” 

“You’re the one that said it,” Sidonie smiled.

“Gamlen,” Carver said suddenly, looking up. “He’s got a head for this garbage. Maybe _he_ can talk to Bartrand? He knows _some_ people. After last week, we need all the coin and influence we can get.” Varric almost laughed at that. Gamlen Amell owed them money. He was _not_ going to get Bartrand to do anything with that debt over his head. As for whatever had occurred last week, Varric was willing to bet that was in reference to Gamlen’s latest trouble with the Coterie. He had run afoul of a few of the less friendly members playing Wicked Grace, lost a significant amount of money he did not have, and word was Gamlen’s nephew had been forced to hand over a massive amount of money in exchange for Gamlen’s life. Not the best way to start off earning your family’s respect, but Gamlen Amell had always been loose with his purse as well as his word.

“I wouldn’t trust him with a silver,” Sidonie said, apparently agreeing with him in that assessment, “but dear uncle’s at least as sleazy as Bartrand.” That may have been the sentence that had Varric sold on her above all others. 

“How’s that for a compliment?” Carver sighed. “What else can we do? We’re losing ground and I don’t fancy waking up in the Gallows.” Did they send non-mages there, Varric wondered, and filed that information away as well. 

They were mere paces from him now. Varric put on his best smile and pushed away from the wall. Sidonie’s eyes narrowed as she saw him, and Carver instantly took on a defensive stance, like at any moment he might reach for his sword.

“How do you do?” Varric said, keeping it friendly. “Varric Tethras, at your service!” They pair of them exchanged glances, and Varric widened his smile. “I apologize for Bartrand. He wouldn’t know an opportunity if it hit him square in the jaw.” Which Carver, at least, looked capable of doing.

“But you would?” Sidonie asked. She shifted her weight to one foot, her hand resting on her hip. In mercenary leathers, she had the look of someone who could get things done. Beside her, Carver’s arms were so beefy he probably _could_ rip the horns of an ogre, whatever Bartrand thought. These were people he wanted. He had to play this right.

“I _would_ ,” he grinned. “What my brother doesn’t realize is that we need someone like you. He would never admit it either – he’s too proud. I, however, am quite practical.” Sidonie’s look was confused.

“You’re part of his venture?” she asked, pushing past him. Varric turned to walk with them back towards the Lowtown steps.

“That’s right. The Deep Roads wouldn’t normally be my thing,” he explained, “but I can’t allow the head of our family to go down there alone.” He glanced between them. “As for you, you’ve made quite the name for yourself over the last year. Serving with the Red Iron is no mean feat; yet you not only served, you impressed! The name Hawke is on many lips these days. Not bad for a Fereldan fresh off the boat.” Sidonie grimaced, and Carver looked angry. It was the sister who spoke though. She did not look at him as she talked. She was scanning Hightown for threats, probably Templars or pickpockets or both. 

“Bartrand was pretty adamant he didn’t need another guard,” she said simply. Varric smirked. Time to make his case.

“We don’t need another hireling. We need a _partner_.” At that they both looked to him. There. The attention he needed. He dropped his voice a little to add to the privacy. “The truth is, Bartrand’s been tearing his beard out trying to fund this on his own, but he can’t do it.” The truth could often serve better than lies. “Invest in the expedition. Fifty sovereigns, and he can’t refuse. Not with me there to vouch for you.” Sidonie gave a laugh, and it was a clear noise, pretty in its own way. 

“I hope there’s more to this,” she said, “like how I’m supposed to get that much coin together. If you’ve heard of us, you must know we’re about as poor as you get without being in the negative, and in Uncle Gamlen’s case that’s certainly achievable.” Varric nodded sagely.

“There’s only a brief window after a Blight when the Deep Roads won’t be crawling with darkspawn,” he finally said. “The treasure you find down there could set you up for life, Gamlen included if you’re feeling both stupid and generous.” 

“Come on,” Carver said on his other side. “The dwarf makes some sense.” He glanced hurriedly to Varric. “No offense.” Varric simply beamed and gave a gracious nod, letting it slide. Little brothers that were still boys occasionally deserved the benefit of the doubt, after all. It was Sidonie who was calling the shots though, and she narrowed her gaze, stepping down the first of the sandstone steps back to Lowtown. “Look,” Carver added, “you started this. And it’s a good idea. Certainly better than ending up in the Gallows.” Such a sincere attempt at convincing apparently brought Sidonie to a stop on the top step. She waited, thinking it through. A little more convincing then?

“We work together, you and I, and before you know it, you’ll have all the capital you need,” Varric suggested. At least it would give him something to do, and he liked the look of these people, if nothing else. They might make for good drinking partners later. “Bartrand isn’t grasping at strings. He’s operating on some good information. Some of the Deep Roads are so old, even the dwarves have forgotten them.”

“You’re asking me to take a lot on faith,” Sidonie said, glancing sidelong back at him. He gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“You’re asking for a guarantee? I don’t know that I can give you one.” She looked away, brows knitted, pondering the risks involved. She had the entire livelihood of her family to weigh after all, and that appeared to mean a lot to her. “Look,” he said softly, “I know the Templars have been asking question. How terrible would it be to get out of the city for awhile? If this works out, you’ll be wealthy enough that the order won’t be able to touch you. You need the coin, and I need your help. We need each other. I can’t make it sound better than that.” He could dance around it all he wanted, but that was the truth. He needed her skills, and she needed his money, and they both needed this expedition to turn out well. An investment was always a risk – Amgarrak had proven that much. But Varric was better in his investments than Bartrand, and this was one he was willing to bet on. Sidonie Hawke was exactly who they needed. 

She stood there a moment longer, then at last she sighed, glancing back over her shoulder, and giving him a wry smile that made her eyes dance. They were the color of blood, a brown so deep it looked red in the Kirkwall sun. 

“It’s not like I had anything better planned,” she finally said, giving a shrug. Varric gave her a grin back.

“Perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES:
> 
> THE BOOK EIDEANN READS:  
> Codex entry: A Different Darkspawn? This is found in Inquisition at Valammar (Deep Roads in the Hinterlands) and is probably written by a smuggler. It's apparently about 20 years old. Given Inquisition takes place 9:41 Dragon, and in current Dances time it's 9:31 dragon, we can assume the event happened ten years before. It's foreseeable this would instead reach their hands now (when it might be useful) via Legionnaires who have had the chance to travel different parts of the Deep Roads, rather than be discovered later on by chance. So...we get it now.
> 
> FADE, BLIGHT, AND BLOOD MAGIC:  
> All different things. It's suggested that the darkspawn blight magic has similarities to blood magic, but it is made clear that they are not actually the same thing. The Awakened darkspawn (those that have/use magic) all appear to be using variations of actual Fade spells, rather than the more blood-magic style spells of the Origin's darkspawn. This will eventually go somewhere in the story (wait and see) but for now suffice to say that there is a distinction here. More when we get to Blackmarsh.
> 
> PETRA, ANDERS, JOWAN, SOLONA, AND KNIGHT-LIEUTENANT HADLEY:  
> A reminder for those who forgot: Solona Amell is the red-haired mage with the blue eyes Cullen was crushing on for...ages. She helped her friend Jowan escape the Tower, was imprisoned, and killed by an abomination during the Uprising. Petra in DA:O does actually have red hair, and it probably grew, but she keeps it pulled back really tightly in DA:O. I just pushed reality a bit by giving her a bit more character here. Petra was Wynne's apprentice, and a Harrowed Mage. She probably knows Anders, actually, and knew Solona and Jowan too. Jowan (for those who need a refresher) was sent back to the Tower by Eideann so his testimony could be used against Loghain in the Landsmeet. Eideann recommended Tranquility rather than his death, and had the right to ask a few favors of the Circle by this point. So Jowan is alive and Tranquil in the Circle by her request now. Also a reminder, Petra was one of the few who climbed Fort Drakon with Eideann and Alistair to face the Archdemon. Knight-Lieutenant Hadley will make an appearance again in the Witch Hunt section of Dances, but this is his first appearance in Dances overall. :)
> 
> VARRIC'S NETWORK AND THE EXPEDITION:  
> It is implied he has been looking up on the Hawkes, so I've tried to show this throughout the story thus far. He has a very vast network, and some things are probably easier to learn than others. Varric is a man who hedges his bets, so this is one he's making with all the information he has. There is suggestion that Sidonie's recent activities have led to some sort of suspicion by the Templars about her, or about someone anyway. Enough people know about her that it is always a danger, so that's a dynamic that will play out moving forward. 
> 
> The expedition itself is never really given a timeframe, but it was close after the Blight. We know the Blight was ended (in Dances time) in the Autumn of 9:31 Dragon (a yearish after Ostagar). It is now mid-winter, getting close to First Day (the Winter Solstice) so a few months later in our timeframe. The goal is to leave on the expedition within the next few weeks prior to First Day (or around then). I set this up this way for a very specific reason, and that has to do with the Amgarrak Expedition and the timeframe for the Royal Wedding, so...wait and see how that pans out too. ;) 
> 
> Also, for those that care, it is lore that Maevaris Telani (Magister and friend of Dorian Pavus in Qarinus, also known as Mae) is married to Thorold, Varric's cousin. ;)
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! <3


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann and Keenan discuss future plans; Eideann turns control of Soldier's Peak over to Keenan as Warden-Lieutenant; Alistair arrives in Highever and has his chance to allay Fergus's concerns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: violence (mentioned)
> 
> Comments always welcome. :)
> 
> As a heads up, lovely readers:  
> I'm busy for the next two weeks with RL commitments, and so I'll post chapters if/when I can. Sorry for the delay. Thanks for bearing with me! <3 ~HR

Keenan was watching her as she paced back and forth, biting at her thumbnail in thought. She could feel his quiet gaze on her, knew he wanted to speak, and she may even have welcomed it, but at the moment the silence was too helpful to surrender, so she simply paced back and forth and back and forth across the study, her eyes narrowed in contemplation.

Sigrun was alive, though still out cold, and she had left the woman a Warden tunic for when she finally did wake, along with a pair of knives with the griffon handle and a crossbow to match the others. The dwarf would get heavy armor, as a Legionnaire. She was in the thick of the fight too often to settle for the less defensive scout armor.

It was her good luck, perhaps, that she had yet to choose a failed Warden. There had only been Mhairi at the beginning, and she had been recruited by the Jader Wardens. If she kept being careful and certain in her selections, they could rebuild easily.

Provided they did not all die first.

Emissary Pether had pulled all the tomes he could relating to the Chantry, at least from the section they had copied. The rest had yet to be catalogued, and as a result were significantly more difficult to weed through. Eideann was willing to wait for a little while. In the end, she could pursue the information that had taken Warden Kristoff to Blackmarsh. She just needed to let the horses rest up, and –

She sighed, closing her eyes. The horses weren’t there.

As if he was reading her mind, Keenan quietly rose from his seat on the edge of the desk.

“I sent some of Levi’s nephews to round up the horses for us,” he told her. “I thought you might not mind if I was a bit proactive about that.” Her gaze slid to him, sidelong, and grateful. She gave him a small smile.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “It’s…hard to keep on top of everything.”

“Then don’t,” he replied. “It seems to me you try to control too many things. You have capable people. Let us do some of it too.” His eyes hardened then, cooling. “I want this darkspawn war ended as much as any man. You made me Senior Warden of Soldier’s Peak, Commander. Warden-Lieutenant. Let me do that job.” She nodded, turning to face him.

“So what do we do then? Do you think Kristoff found out any information?” He gave a sad shake of head.

“Probably, but he’s been absent so long…” he paused and looked away. “His wife, Aura, was meant to be travelling to Amaranthine after Satinalia. She’ll come looking soon. If he was chasing a band of the Awakened darkspawn, which side were the on? Why? What did he know?” Eideann pursed her lips in thought, then sighed.

“All _I_ know,” she said quietly, “is that the organized bands of darkspawn Kristoff was apparently chasing were attacking villages, not Wardens. And that makes me think they may be in this Mother’s faction.”

“You think it’s a broodmother, don’t you?” Eideann gave him a blank stare and Keenan crossed his arms. “A troublesome thought, if correct. But where? And why harry the surface if they’re at war underground?”

“To draw us in,” Eideann said softly. “We have to treat the darkspawn like they’re a thinking and strategic enemy now. Why would _you_ harry the surface if your main enemy lurked underground?” He sighed, glancing away, his brow knitting a little. Dark hair shone in the candlelight.

“Let’s assume you’re correct,” he said softly, “and they were trying to draw us in. Why? What good would a Warden presence do to _any_ darkspawn? What does this Mother faction even want. We can’t move forward without some idea of the answers.”

“I suspect,” Eideann replied tracing her hand over the books she had scattered over the desk, “the answer to those problems are things we may not ever know.” She grimaced. “I do not know this: even Awakened, these darkspawn are still linked to the Blight. They can spread it, and they still sense us, presumably because of the Archdemon blood in the Joining Ritual. That means they are still compelled somehow, by whatever the Blight actually is. The Blight itself is the corruption, the source of evil, and while they are connected to it, they will always be that base, cruel form of themselves.” She narrowed her gaze, glancing back to him. “Their Awakening lets them think, but they have still chosen to follow, because following is all they have ever known. They follow the Architect, or they follow this Mother. And that means if we want this to end, we bring them both down.” She curled her fingers into a fist atop the stack of books, bending over the desk. “They die as easily as all the rest when they don’t have that protection.”

“And if they escape?”

“We hunt them down,” she replied. “Isn’t that what Warden’s do?” Keenan gave a quiet nod, then looked away across the room.

“We need to discuss the matter of how you’re planning on splitting troops when this is done,” he said quietly. She glanced to him, open to suggestions, and he leaned back against the table again, gripping the edge with both hands. At his feet near the fire, Lucan rolled over and gave a soft gruff. Keenan’s eyes considered him. “I’ve…got a general team in mind if you’ll hear me out.”

“I’ll give you whoever you need, with one caveat,” Eideann replied, pushing herself up and considering him. “You’re not taking Nathaniel Howe.”

“Don’t need him,” Keenan said. “Plus he’s no use here, is he, up in the mountains? The Howes are an old family, and you’ve got plans for that, I can see it in your eyes.” He sighed, his smile fading. “Anyway, with my own abilities limited to crossbow work, another archer is hardly going to be my priority.”

“Who do you want? Make your case,” Eideann said simply. He met her eyes, the quiet look of command in them, from years of leading men in Teryn Loghain Mac Tir’s employ.

“I want Oghren.” She blinked. That one was unexpected, not because Oghren was not an entirely capable fighter, but because he had hardly made a good impression recently, and he was difficult to get along with at the best of times. Keenan recognized her surprise, because he drew a breath. “The man has problems, but he fights better than a lot of men I’ve seen, and he knows the Deep Roads. I want him in them. I want him face to face with darkspawn as much as we possibly can. But I have another more…personal reason.” Eideann narrowed her gaze but nodded for him to continue. “I know about Felsi, and her baby. I went down to the inn to speak with a few of the people there, find out more about her story. She was living in Redcliffe with her mother, but her mother’s gone now.” Eideann paused, considering that. Felsi was well and truly alone then? She schooled her features to calm.

“Go on.”

“It isn’t right,” Keenan said. His eyes were fierce. “Wardens should look after the people Wardens hurt. But she can’t stay with him around. And…I think that it might be good for her to stay.” He looked back to Lucan, his eyes severe. “Mistress Woolsey has been looking for a permanent innkeeper at the Vigil. This girl knows how inns are run, and that child is going to need people he can look up to. And…Oghren can’t be part of that. He’s not…” he paused, wetting his lips, then shook his head, glancing up at her. “He has a problem, Commander, and you know it. He’s in so deep that he’s drowning. And it isn’t right making a child grow up with that just because we think he should take some responsibility.” Eideann crossed her arms quietly, listening. Keenan pushed himself up, and she was forced to look up at him then. She did not mind. She was imposing at any height, she knew, but she recognized it as an attempt to seem like more of an authority here. “I want to help him, to give him that chance to make something of himself, and in the Wardens he absolutely can. Oghren needs this. But I won’t drag a child into this. And I won’t just leave Felsi to herself knowing she has no where else to go. Wardens should…we should look after one another. We should stay true to one another.”

_Be as loyal as you can to your brothers, knowing that you’ll share their deaths._

“You’ll have him. And I’ll speak to Mistress Woolsey about the inn,” Eideann said quietly. “Assuming this all goes as planned that is.” It was a good plan. Her Wardens could still provide for Felsi and Oghren’s child, while giving Felsi a chance to stand on her own two feet and be of use to them all. Oghren would be kept away from them, but if they ever decided they wanted to reach him, they could. He would know they were looked after because he was a Warden, and that would give him the chance to prove himself worthy of the title – to earn it for himself. And he could find his purpose in battling the darkspawn, fighting in the Deep Roads and regaining his honor. He could finally start to deal with the fear that had wracked through him in Kal’Hirol at the thought of facing Broodmothers, but there would still be that retreat back to the surface should that prove necessary.

She liked it as a plan. And she could get others to agree. It was better than anything she herself had managed to consider.

“Was he the only one you wanted?” she asked, glancing back to Keenan, who had settled visibly. The man shook his head.

“I had…a few other thoughts…” She motioned for him to continue. “Keeping in mind you intend for Nathaniel Howe to stay at the Vigil – and that makes sense given who he is and his connection to Amaranthine – I think it best you keep Anders with him. They’re…close, and a healer is often seen as a less dangerous mage to have around. I think I had better keep Velanna though. She’s got too much bad blood in the Wending Wood, and the further from civilization she is, the better. Not to mention, she’s dedicated herself to killing every darkspawn she can find. We might never find her sister, but if we do it will be the Deep Roads, and forgive me for presuming, Commander, but with the entrance right below us feeding into that Legionnaire outposts King Bhelen plans to see permanently manned, I think there’s no better place for her. Plus, that archive they’re going through…how much of that is Dalish? You know she’s got a soft spot for history.” Eideann smiled slightly at that.

“Oghren and Velanna then. They’ll be a handful.”

“I imagine I can hammer them into an effective team.” He had probably done as much earlier when they had been serving as a distraction at the gates of Kal’Hirol. He was capable. He could manage. She nodded, and he shifted, glancing to Lucan. “I think you should maybe leave me Sigrun too, if possible. She trusts you, but she is a Legionnaire as well, and with the outpost down there, a liaison might not be a bad idea. I’ll just be careful not to give the impression I’m going to recruit the entire Legion into the Wardens.”

“If it becomes a problem, there’s room at Vigil’s Keep,” Eideann said. “And if we find Kristoff, and he’s alright, he can be of help there.” She bowed her head a moment, examining her feet, kicking at the thick carpet Levi had laid out across the bare stone against the permanent chill. “I won’t be able to stay. I’ll need a Senior Warden there as well. Once this is done, assuming we all live through it, Alistair and I need to put the rest of Ferelden in order.”

“See,” Keenan said with a soft chuckle. “Too many things.” She gave a knowing smile and then glanced to Lucan.

“It’s good to have reliable people about.” He sighed, his smile slipping, and looked to her with warm eyes.

“I have you to thank for being here at all, Your Majesty,” he said, switching to her formal title to put the power distance between them to make himself seem small. “It is and always will be an honor to serve.” Eideann met his warm gaze, a soft brown like the color of sunlight on the earth.

“The honor,” she told him, “is mine. I could not have made it this far without you.” She pushed away from the table then, closing her eyes, feeling a wave of exhaustion. He caught it and nodded, giving a soft whistle that had Lucan on his feet in moments.

“I will leave you to your rest, Commander,” he said quietly, and she smiled, thanking him again, and bidding him goodnight.

That left her alone in the office, where she had once looked Sophia Dryden’s tainted abomination corpse in the eye, where she had convinced the love of her life to lie with one of her closest friends for the good of Ferelden, and sighed. She did not like staying there. She retreated instead towards the bedroom, which was still exactly as it had been left several months back. Levi Dryden, it appeared, had refused to use it, setting himself up in one of the outbuildings with the rest of his family. The Peak’s main fortress itself was largely unoccupied.

A pang of longing hit her the moment she entered the room, and it took her a moment to work out why. She could smell Alistair on the bedding, even after so long, his presence like a ghost or a spirit, folding her tight in his arms. One day, their bedchamber were smell something like this.

She carefully shed her Warden armor, which still had not been cleaned, and her tunic and crawled bare into the blankets, burying herself in that scent and their warmth.

She did not even remember falling asleep. When she woke, it was to a soft knocking on the door of one of Levi’s many family members bringing her something clean to wear. A new tunic so the other could be washed. The woman, it was a woman, took her armor with a look of distaste so it might be scrubbed down, leaving Eideann to dress alone. The cold fireplace still held the shards of glass from the shattered brandy bottle she had thrown months before. She peered at them quietly.

 _And what was the alternative?_ she thought quietly. _Leave Ferelden in chaos? No. You did what you had to do. You did your duty._ She turned away from the fireplace and fastened the sash of her tunic.

They breakfasted in the hall where Avernus had torn the Veil several centuries earlier. It was bright and shining now, packed with long tables and glowing with the light from lamps and the fireplace. A small kitchen set off to one side was emitting amazing smells that made Eideann struggle to think when last she had had real food rather than salted and dried nug strips.

She sank into a seat between Sigrun and Petra, Sigrun staring curiously at the mage like she did not really know what to make of her. Petra gave her a warm smile, and Eideann smiled back.

“How’s Velanna?” she asked.

“Better, but still weak. She’s been trying to heal herself as well, and Anders and I took turns after we got him some lyrium. He’s…pretty determined to see her back up on her feet.” Eideann gave her a curious smirk, then shrugged and tucked in.

“Well, as long as it’s going well.”

“He said you fought a giant golem,” Petra said with an incredulous look.

“Something like that.”

“Massive,” Sigrun interjected. “Huge. And probably evil. Entirely metal. Bigger than the entire Deep Roads.”

“For a dead woman,” came the quiet voice of Nathaniel Howe across the table, “you are remarkably perky.” Eideann glanced to him to see he appeared to have regained much of his color. His head was still bandaged, clean bandages now, but he was slowly picking his way through his food and seemed well on the way to recovery. Anders, sitting beside him, refused to look at her, still angry perhaps over Jowan. She noticed how close he was sitting to Nathaniel and smiled slightly anyway. Let them take what happiness they could.

“I could be less perky if you like,” Sigrun replied at her side, around a mouthful of ham. Then she rose up dramatically, tossing her head back and straightening her spine. “The darkness of the Deep Roads has seeped into my soul! The world is dead! My heart is black! Alas! Woe! Woe!” Her gaze flickered to Nathaniel, who was watching with an unimpressed stare.

“Let’s stick to perky,” he murmured, and Sigrun grinned before spearing another chunk of ham.

“What _is_ this by the way?” she added, glancing to Eideann. “Surface nug? It’s amazing! And it smells so good! Like trees! And dirt! Real dirt not darkspawn dirt! And the sky! I saw the sky this morning!”

“She asked if she was allowed outside,” Keenan clarified, feeding scraps to Lucan without looking up. “I let her go. I didn’t think.” Eideann just smiled, then sighed, glancing about at the others in the room. Then, at last, she rose from her seat, pushing her plate away, and cleared her throat.

She got their immediate attention. Mikhael was there – she felt the ring on her hand that she never took off warm and steady on her finger – as was Levi and most of their nephews. A few of the hired help were about, the Tranquil, Petra, Knight-Lieutenant Hadley, and her own people of course. She looked about them all.

“I just wanted to thank you all, for responding so quickly to recent events. Ferelden’s Grey Wardens would not run without the assistance of everyone here. She glanced to Keenan, beckoning for him to rise. He gave her a quiet look, then did so. “This is Warden-Lieutenant Keenan. He will be the Warden in charge of Soldier’s Peak. He answers directly to myself or King Alistair in matters of Wardening, but Seneschal Levi Dryden will be maintaining all his current status. The pair of them will run the Peak together, Warden-Lieutenant Keenan in charge of Warden matters, and Seneschal Dryden in charge of day-to-day matters. You are all, of course, welcome to stay. This is your home. Thank you for making the Peak somewhere we could call home again.” There were a few smiles. Perhaps they had been expecting bad news. A few clapped for Keenan who smiled then and said a few words of greeting. Eideann faded back, letting him have the opportunity to address them. He slipped right in, telling them a little about himself and then going table to table to greet them individually. Eideann filled up a pewter goblet with warm tea and drank the whole thing down, going to stand before the fireplace that burned merrily in the hall so she did not impose on the rest.

“That was…well managed,” came the quiet voice of Nathaniel nearby. She glanced back to see him draw alongside her, considering the flames, then her rainy Cousland gaze. “He’ll get along well here.” She nodded, arms crossed about herself, and then glanced to him.

“I think so,” she said softly. “He’s capable and sensible.”

“But?” Nathaniel asked.

“It feels a bit like splitting up the family, doesn’t it?” she asked with a bitter little smile. He gave a soft chuckle, looking away again.

“It’s been only a couple of months. Are we already family, Cousland?”

“Were we ever not? Join us Brothers and Sisters…” she let it trail off and he sighed. She glanced back to him. “Is Anders alright?”

“Irritable, but I think he’s getting over it.” She nodded.

“He told you then?” Nathaniel gave her a quiet look that said all the unspoken things he needed to say.

“He tells me a great deal,” he finally replied. “So…these…factions.” Eideann immediately darkened and he bowed his head a little, the bandages shifting slightly as he did so. “How dangerous did this just become? And be honest with me, Cousland, I know when you’re lying, like that time you let Angus eat Thomas’s dinner, and then pretended you weren’t there to stop him.” She smiled at the memory, but it was fleeting. Instead she lowered her voice so those in the chamber behind her could not hear.

“I’ve sent word to Fergus and Alistair to strike the banners and bring an army east,” she told him. His eyes flashed. “I can’t let Amaranthine be overrun. We don’t have the numbers to fight a Civil War. There are seven of us.”

“Things are that bad then?” he asked her. His Coastland grey gaze was boring into her, intense and firm and sharp. She nodded.

“In the best case, we all live through it. In the worst, Amaranthine is razed to the ground. Maker, I’ll die first before I let that happen.” Her voice went hard and she shook her head. “We cut off the heads. The Architect and the Mother. With them gone, we can sweep the region. When I know what we’re dealing with, I’ll write to King Bhelen. He won’t be happy an entire Legion is dead, but if I ask for Kardol…”

“Kardol’s good then?” Eideann nodded, glancing over her shoulder.

“Kardol was with us --Oghren, Sigrun, Alistair, Shayle, and I, when we laid siege to Bownammar. He’s cautious, and he’s smart. And if anyone can help us reclaim the dwarven thaigs under Amaranthine, it’s him.” Nathaniel nodded, quiet a moment, and then he finally sighed.

“I…know what you’re planning.”

“Do you now?” she said, giving him a perplexed look. He nodded.

“With Amaranthine and the Vigil. I don’t like it Eideann, don’t do it.” She sighed, shaking her head.

“We will see what happens, won’t we?” she replied, then turned back to the chamber. “I have not made any decisions about the Vigil yet.”

“I told you I could tell when you were lying,” he reminded her, but his tone was gentle. She carefully looped her arm through his, silk tunic all that separated them for a moment.

“Whatever happens,” she said softly, “I just wanted you to know that I am…very grateful and very lucky to have been able to call you friend, Nate.” He met her eyes, then drew back with the slightest of smiles, giving a courtly bow and reaching for her hand to press a kiss to the back of her fingers.

“Lady Eideann,” he said, and then moved back up the steps towards Anders, who was watching them in silence. She considered them a moment, watching as Anders helped him back to his seat, catching Nathaniel’s hand with his own for the briefest of moments, and smiled slightly at the sight. Then she heaved a sigh.

“So,” Levi said, crossing to her from the table where he had been sitting. “What now, Warden?”

“When we have our horses, we’ll be leaving,” Eideann said simply. “We have to stop this at the source.”

“And your injured people?”

“Keenan will remain with Velanna, Nathaniel, and Oghren. I need Velanna and Nathaniel well, and Oghren’s no good on a horse.” Sigrun could ride with her, so that was not a problem. Sigrun weighed substantially less than Oghren did. “Anders will come with me, in case we find Warden Kristoff and he needs help. Sigrun and I can handle the darkspawn we may encounter.” She glanced to her people gathered up at the tables, laughing and breaking their fast, and then sighed. “When the others are well, tell them to ride for the Vigil. Keenan will know what to do, and Nathaniel has authority there. I will meet them back there.” Levi nodded, crossing his arms.

“And if his Majesty writes back?”

“Give it to Nate,” Eideann said softly. “He has my permission to read my mail if it comes here. It will be urgent if they do reply.” Levi considered that a moment.

“So it really is war then?”

“So soon, I know,” Eideann replied, looking to him with sad, tired eyes. “It never ends.”

“Be careful, Commander,” he told her, and his eyes were gentle and full of worry. She just gave him a glum little smile.

“Sometimes, Levi, that isn’t enough.”

***

He had never felt so damp and cold in his life. Highever was blanketed under a thick wave of sleet. It was not quite snow, which may have at least looked pretty, because the gales blowing in from the Waking Sea brought salt and sea warmth into the mix in a way that clashed with the Coastland chill. But it was not just rain, because this was Ferelden, and everyone was clad in thick furs.

He was surprised then to see so many people had turned out on the street to watch his procession. He had brought only a few of his men and the courtiers he could not convince to stay behind. The entire ordeal of the last few weeks – political sorties arranged by Arl Eamon and guided by Bann Teagan amongst others – had been almost enough to make him want to die. He had tried to escape in Eideann’s book, which held a number of witty comments about each and all the different houses amidst its rather admittedly dry pages of inked family crests that would not be amiss in a Chantry cloister. Ultimately, it had been in vain, as noble after noble demanded his attention, his respect. This being Ferelden, he owed it to them all to give it. His entire crown rested on their staying happy with his rule.

Maker, it was enough to make him want to go and scream.

But here at Highever things were different. Yes, he was sopping wet from the sleet, which had soaked so deeply into Angus’s fur he doubted the dog would ever be dry. Yes, he was still walking amidst a procession of townsfolk, watching him with quiet and wary eyes to see what they made of him. Grim. Cheerful. Perhaps it was just a tradition to stand around in the rain in Highever looking bleak and slightly ominous? It might be a competition. Perhaps they just enjoyed looking as imposing and unwelcoming and judgmental as possible? He felt a small smile quirk the corner of his lips, and sighed.

This time it was different then everywhere else, because when the people of Highever judged him, it was not on his worth as a King. Instead, they were trying to decide if they loved him enough to grant him a Cousland wife. This was far more personal. Highever was loyal, and would remain loyal, because Eideann Cousland was Queen. He had no one to win over there for his throne. The Couslands were more loved than every other noble combined, he often found himself thinking, and it was because they sacrificed everything of themselves to the betterment of their people. The situation with Rendon Howe’s invasion and hostile takeover had, if anything, solidified the Cousland support across the entire region. There was not a Bann or layman for miles that did not have the weight of that in their eyes. The Coastlands were loyal so long as they decided he was good enough for their leige lady. That was still a question he was trying to muddle through himself. How could a bastard who slept in stables be good enough for the Queen of Ferelden? The Hero of the Fifth Blight? Slayer of an Archdemon?

He shifted on his seat a little, his Ferelden Forder Dennett dancing on the cobbles, and chanced a glance to Teagan beside him. Teagan himself looked somewhere between complete ease and complete concern. He had spent much of his time in Highever when they were younger, and Teryn Fergus was one of his best friends. He wondered what it might be like to return now, after all that had happened, to be seeing the place through familiar eyes.

Alistair paused on Fergus’s title, and felt his mouth go a little dry. If he had his way, Teryn Fergus would be his brother-in-law, but that all depended on what happened then and there at Highever.

He was nervous. It was true. All the rest, it felt, had been practice for this moment. Those last couple months touring the Bannorn, putting to rest the last of the Darkspawn bands in the area and dining with nobles in a hundred different keeps and castles had all been practice for the day he had to look Fergus Cousland in the face again. He had, of course, had his dealings with Fergus Cousland before in Denerim, but not many, and they had been under the curtain of disaster relief at the end of war. This was a different sort of meeting, a far more personal one, and one he had to get right. But at the same time…Maker, he wished more than anything that Eideann were there. He did not even know how Fergus Cousland would greet him.

His first meeting with the man, after all, had been the day Fergus had arrived in Denerim and Eideann had finally emerged from her sickbed post-Blight. They had all of them looked like they had been dragged through the Black City and back, and every single one of them was too sore to think about the pieces of their damaged lives in those moments. Instead, they had settled into the quiet friendship of devastated souls, first names only, and not spoken of the heavy losses that hung between them. When Fergus had bade his sister farewell here in Highever more than a year hence, he had probably never thought to see her so broken and wounded, the Hero of Ferelden and a Queen, but at the same time a shadow of herself in the aftermath of it all. And it had been, in some ways, Alistair’s fault. After all, if he had just…kept his hands to himself…if he had…

No, he did not want to think about what might have been or could have been. He wanted to get on with his life. He was determined to win Fergus Cousland’s respect on his own merits. What remained to be seen was whether that quiet friendship had continued now that things were settling down, or if the walls of formality would be back up.

That, he realized, was why both he and Teagan was so anxious. The Bann looked like he were being led to gallows, and Maker it did nothing for Alistair’s nerves to see it. If Teagan was so worried, how would he ever survive. He might run away, cry, make a fool of himself.

 _Excuse me, Your Lordship, but would you mind so terribly if I bedded and wedded your sister? I’m a bastard by the way, but I promise on my honor Maric was my father._ Maker, the thought alone sounded insane. He almost laughed at the madness of it. If anyone else tried to tell _him_ that story… His smile slipped. For all he knew, he was not Maric’s son at all. He had only the word of others to go on. And his mother… well he did not even know who she had been. A serving maid, they had said. He did not even know her name. His smile faded away.

Fergus had dealt with a great many things in that past year as well, had he not? The loss of his family was a more recent hurt for him, and he had been held by the Chasind until shortly before the Battle of Denerim. He had only recently reclaimed Highever, though the news was it had fallen almost the moment he arrived, Eideann had left the Howe ranks so gutted. Fergus had had the primary instigators hanged in the square, and the rest he had sent packing back to Amaranthine. They had, most of them, simply been following orders. Many of them had made their way into the ranks of the Vigil’s Keep guards that Eideann had been recruiting for.

Alistair was worried about her, his Queen, his dangerous little flickering light in the darkness. Something was always going wrong where she was concerned, and it had been ages since her last letter. It had been disconcerting enough that when he had read news of her capture at the Wending Wood, Teagan himself had been forced to stop him riding northward to assist.

The gates of Highever Castle rose high above them, standing open. They bore the signs of siege still, charred wood and warped metal in places, but they held. Some of the planks were newer than the others.

He had not expected…well, he had expected to see signs of the attack, but to try and place them in the same category as Eideann’s home…? That was something more difficult.

A few of the towers bore structural damage, signs of a fire that had razed a handful. And there were still dark stains in some of the stonework. Alistair and his party filed through the gates and into the courtyard. There they dismounted, and a number of grooms came forward to take their horses. Alistair handed Dennett’s reins to a capable looking young man with dark blue eyes, and wondered for a moment if the entirety of Highever did not carry within them the spirit of the sea and rain.

He had expected to be taken to the great hall, but instead of leading him to the doors, the ushers wove through the courtyards and to a lawn further in up some exterior stone steps. There they came upon a shooting range, grass staining their boots with damp, where a pair of figures stood in the sleet on the slick grasses.

The first was Alfstanna Eremon, who he could make out beneath the hood of her cloak. She was wearing a gown of thick blue velvet, and a pendant about her neck over the top which she wove through her fingers in a way that instantly made him think of Eideann. In her other hand was a Waking Sea longbow, several arrows pierced into the damp earth at her feet. It was she who noticed their presence first. She gave a bow of head in greeting as they crossed the lawns. Alistair nodded back, murmuring a quiet hello as they drew close, and then considered the other person standing on the lawn.

Fergus Cousland, Teryn of Highever, had his back to them. He was aiming an arrow along the shaft of an intricately carved bow, bears carved across the entire wooden grip. It was fine make, if a bit crude, and gave him a bit of a wild appearance. At his hip was a sword of glittering silverite, capped with an opal stone – the twin to Eideann’s Duty if not for the different gem at the hilt, and tied to his belt a quiver of finely fletched arrows. He had a thick mantle lined with bear fur about his shoulders, a deep blue Highever Weave that looked heavy and warm. The hood was down, and flakes of snow were gathering in his dark hair. He wet his lips, and let the arrow fly.

“You’ve gotten better,” Teagan said softly, and Fergus Cousland looked back. “Coastlanders and their bows.”

“Teagan,” he said quietly, lowering his bow and giving a smile. Then he looked to Alistair, and Alistair caught the quiet resolve of Eideann in his eyes. “Your Majesty, you are most welcome to Highever.” Alistair gave him a small smile.

“Just Alistair,” he reminded him quietly, and Fergus gave an amused look. Angus took that moment to give a sharp bark, insisting on attention, and Fergus grinned before crouching to scruff his hands through the beast’s thick, damp fur, leaving it peaked and stuck up by the water that held it fast in odd spikes across his muzzle and head.

“And you, old friend,” Fergus grinned before looking up, “though I see you’re looking after King Alistair instead of Eideann now.” He straightened, and the smile from before faded, overshadowed by something. He glanced towards the lawn. “We were just…” Fergus began to explain, motioning back to the archery targets at the far end of the grass. Between the two of them, they had hit almost every bullseye. “Do you know how to shoot?”

“Yes, though I have nothing like your skill at it,” Alistair said quietly, admiring the work. “Eideann tried to teach me to track better. Never had much luck.” He glanced to Fergus’s bow. “That’s fine work there.”

“It…was a gift,” the man said softly. There was more to that story, but Alistair felt an awkward weight settle over them all, so he backed away.

“Well it’s a fine one,” he said hurriedly. “It’s a bit cold though, and I hear Highever has a fireplace that’s big enough to roast a troll in.” At that Alfstanna gave a soft laugh.

“Come on,” she said, linking her arm with Fergus’s and reaching to collect her arrows. “The other nobles will be waiting in the Great Hall.”

The Great Hall itself was certainly something grand. It was lined with carpets, but these bore the dark patches of stains that would not come out that spoke of the darkness that had fallen here. The other nobles in his retinue, a few lords and Banns that had followed him northward as he left the Bannorn behind, greeted them as they entered with a flourish of courtly bows and stiff murmurs of You Lordships and Your Majesties and My Lords and My Ladys, until they had all had the chance to say something, and the formal matter of dealing with them – again – might begin.

To Alistair’s surprise, Fergus Cousland promptly dismissed them all.

“Friends, be welcome at Highever. Many of you have visited these halls before. As it was in my father’s day, I give you free reign of our castle here, save for the chambers at the back of the keep beyond the Atrium. Bann Alfstanna has been graciously helping us prepare chambers for you all. If you might be so kind as to follow her?” And with that said, he beckoned to Teagan and Alistair to follow him while Alfstanna let him go with a smile and clapped her hands together sharply to get the attention of the remaining lords. Alistair hesitated, a bit confused at the turn of affairs. He had expected some sort of feast, or maybe a celebration of sorts, since that was what every other noble had managed. Fergus Cousland, it appeared, was about as likely to have a celebration as he was to wait on the arrival of his visitors.

“You’ll forgive me,” he said, when the doors to the Great Hall had closed and they found themselves in a small walkway open to the drizzling rain. “I am in little mood to entertain the entire Bannorn at the moment. Alfstanna has been…assisting me in the running of the castle for the time being. I wanted the chance to speak with you both in a less…formal setting.” Alistair relaxed a little at that, and Teagan grinned.

“I had thought you more diplomatic than that, my old friend,” he said softly, but there was laughter in his voice. Fergus gave a quiet look, and the gentle mirth that Alistair recognized in Eideann was thick in the Teyrn’s gaze.

“If I learned nothing else the past year, I did learn not to take myself so seriously,” he said in reply. “Come. Let us drink like we used to, and tell Alistair all our best stories of Eideann. I have some West Hill Brandy that needs some attention.”

They were closeted not much later in a chamber with a low burning fire surrounded by books so old they put the Redcliffe archives to shame. Alistair was nursing a snifter of brandy, but to be honest he had refused to touch the stuff since that night at Soldier’s Peak when he had ended up having far too much to hide the pain and the rage. He still was not sure he wanted to. He kept raising the glass, then lowering it indecisively. Teagan had made note of it with a quiet smile that said he was saving it to poke fun at him later. Fergus Cousland was standing by the hearth, poking at the fire until the chamber was warm and bright. On the carpet between them, Angus was panting softly and drying in the heat of from the flames.

The brandy made Alistair think of Soldier’s Peak. It was not too far east, a few days ride, a week at most. He grimaced at the memory of it. He would be happy to never go back there again. But thinking of the isolated Warden Keeps made his thoughts stray again to Eideann. She would be alone this First Day. Two holidays without her. Maker, he wanted to saddle up his horse and ride east until he could sweep her off her feet and carry her to bed and spend an entire day and night proving to her how much he missed her presence. The world was darker without her, without her flame. He smiled a little.

 _Ah, that’s why they called her the Flame of Highever, then…_ It was a silly thought, but it made him smile. He finally sipped a little of the brandy.

“I beg your pardon for my lack of good manners,” Fergus said suddenly, turning back to them both. “I pulled you both away from your attendants to drink without even showing you to chambers or letting you freshen up.”

“I thought you just liked the smell of ripe armored men,” Alistair grinned, eyeing up his brandy. Teagan made a small noise of amusement, then shook his head.

“It is a nice change, after so much processional nonsense,” he added. “And I have not had the chance to see you in so long. How have you been, my old friend? Things seem…quiet.” Alistair settled back further into his chair, eyes narrowing. Highever was quiet. He had thought it the weather, or maybe the layout of the castle. But even castles had servants that made some noise. The entire place sounded…somber. He thought again of the lonely Chantry bell.

“Alfstanna has been keeping the place together. I can…I hardly…” Fergus paused, unable to continue, and Alistair glanced up, catching his gaze. Fergus seized on the moment to change the topic, drawing a breath for strength. “They say, Your Majesty, that my sister is in love with you. I have never known Eideann to be tied to anyone before, and you will forgive me if I think it strange to see it now.” There was a question in his eyes, and maybe an accusation. Alistair blinked, a little uncomfortable. Eideann was not the sort to be tied down, he knew. He had heard the stories of her reputation for driving off her suitors. He knew as well that the old Eideann probably would not have spared him even a moment. But the new Eideann…The idea what lay between them was in any way a temporary thing pricked his pride a little, and it filled him with a fear. He struggled against it before lapsing into humor, the old trick of hiding behind the walls where it was safe. Eideann had done it as well, and he was willing to bet Fergus Cousland would see right through that trick.

“Any rock in a storm is it?” he finally replied, setting down his brandy on the table beside him after just the one sip. “In confidence, then, Your Lordship.” This needed settling now, apparently, and he was eager to see it done. “I love your sister enough to travel to the Black City and back if she willed it. I would die for her. I have done worse. And I do not need to marry her to prove that. Our union is for Ferelden. Our hearts were already as one. And already do everything she says anyway, so you hardly need to worry about my getting contrary. I couldn’t stand up to her if I tried. It was all entirely an accident on my part, and I can only assume it was the same on hers.” Whatever he had said made something ease in the Teryn, and he shook his head with a smirk.

“When did you find the time?” Fergus laughed, settling back in his chair. “She sounded so busy, how did you ever manage?” Emboldened by the idea that Fergus was actually interested in knowing how Eideann and he had accidentally ended up engaged, Alistair leaned forward, shaking his head.

“What can I say? We’re good at multitasking,” he replied impishly. “The first time we kissed was in the middle of a river by a Dalish camp while we washed bloodstains from our clothes.” Teagan snorted, quite possibly into his drink.

“Eideann always was a little wild, as were you,” he added after a moment’s recovery. Fergus glanced between them then, crossing his arms.

“And…and the child?” Ah. There it was. _What have you done to my poor little sister?_ Alistair bowed his head, feeling the waves of emotions from that, and clasped his hands loosely, resting his elbows atop his thighs in the chair.

 _I left her to fight an Archdemon while I impregnated a witch at her behest,_ part of him wanted to say, but he pressed his lips into a thin line and reached again for the brandy snifter beside him. He downed half the glass of amber liquid before looking up and immediately felt worse for it.

“She never said a word,” he said. And he felt the impact of that. “Because if she had, I would never have let her on that bloody tower.” Fergus met his gaze, a cool, considering stare, and Alistair met it back, refusing to look away. “Unless you’re really asking me why it is I am madly in love with your sister?” An accusation. The truth was somewhere underneath.

“You thought she was a Teyrna,” Fergus said quietly, and his eyes were cold, weighing him. Alistair did not look away.

“But that was not the reason.”

“No?” There was a tension between them a moment, and then Teagan sighed, setting down his own brandy.

“Fergus,” he said quietly, and the Teyrn glanced away then, running a hand over his face, before leaning against the hearth again instead. Alistair looked away, sitting up straight and downing the rest of the brandy, which was making him brazen and uncouth. Teagan noticed the effect it was having and gave his head a small shake of warning. “Fergus, you have all lost a great deal. Eideann made her choices based on what she wants,” he said quietly. “And there is no one in the world who could love her more than Alistair. I have known them both since they were children.”

“That does not make you an unbiased opinion,” Fergus said quietly. And that was true. But Alistair remembered the look on Eideann’s face when she learned that Teagan was alive, and he was pretty certain there was no one else in the world that had as good a read on the both of them as Teagan Guerrin.

“And _you_ are unbiased?” Teagan replied curtly, which made Fergus sigh.

“It has been difficult,” he finally admitted. “Highever has been under a pall, and these halls used to echo with laughter.” He bowed his head. “Alfstanna has been the one keeping it functioning at all.” He paused again, then glanced back to Teagan, and his eyes were burning with an old fire, not unlike Eideann’s did. “My own advisors are trying to push me to wed again.”

“So soon?” Teagan said quietly. Fergus just hunched his shoulders a little, and that served as confirmation. He crouched down instead to scratch at Angus’s ears with a quiet solemnity.

“What a chamber full of bachelors we make,” Alistair said simply, and Fergus gave a weak smile at that. And then the smile was gone, replaced by an aching longing that shone in his deep gaze as he turned it to his brandy snifter.

“What was it like night?” he asked suddenly to no one in particular. “I always wanted to ask her, but with everything that has happened…”

“They died quickly,” Alistair said softly. He knew, and he could not let the question stand without an answer, seeing that desperate look in the Teyrn’s gaze. Fergus looked back to him in alarm, eyes shining with grief, and Alistair swallowed. “She told me once. Eideann.” Fergus’s gaze narrowed, and he paused a moment, staring into space before giving a quiet nod. Then he rose, setting his brandy glass atop the mantlepiece.

“Eideann is the only family I have left,” he said, a little sharply, and Alistair recognized he was talking to him. “Obviously there are cousins since the entirety of Fereldan nobility is a tangled mess – no doubt you have discovered that much at least in your procession northward?” He bowed his head. “But Eideann is my little sister.” Maker, the way he said those words made Alistair’s heart ache. “She wanted so desperately to go to Ostagar with me, to not be left behind. She wanted to fight. And then...seeing how fighting has changed her – ” The Teyrn’s jaw clenched and he looked up. There was a look like the stormy Waking Sea itself in his gaze now. “I know nothing about you, but I knew Cailan, and I knew King Maric a little too. And…I don’t want that life for my sister.” Alistair sighed, raising an eyebrow and leaning back in his chair.

“I don’t know whether to be insulted at the insinuation, or grateful that you believe me a Theirin. Half the problems I’ve had coming northward had to do with that mess,” he deflected, and it caught the Teyrn off guard. Fergus gave a little smile, shaking his head.

“You have Cailan’s jaw,” he said simply, “maybe the nose. And you smile like a Theirin.” But then his look hardened and he shook his head again. “But just because you look like a Theirin doesn’t mean I know anything about you. Aside from the few days I saw you working with Arl Eamon and Teagan here trying to fix Ferelden, all I know is that my sister ended up bedridden while in your care, and betrothed to be some Theirin Queen. And forgive me, Teagan,” he glanced warily to the Bann, “but the last three Theirin Queens did not last very long. Queen Moira was ambushed and slain. Some say Queen Rowan died of the blight she got when King Maric led her through the Deep Roads. And Queen Anora was killed by a dragon and a darkspawn horde.” Teagan shifted in his chair, and Fergus watched him a moment before the Bann held up a hand and shook his head. The reference to his sister was forgiven. “You see?” Fergus said, turning his gaze back to Alistair “There is enough tragedy in the three bloodlines in this room alone to justify concern. Look me in the eye and promise me my sister will not suffer the same as any of them.”

“I can’t.” It was true. After all, Eideann already carried the blight, same as he, and as a Grey Warden would eventually succumb to it. They would go on their Calling together, he had already decided, and there, with any luck, they would die quickly in an ambush by a darkspawn horde. How poetic. Eideann always did have to outdo everyone else, including the last three Theirin Queens. But there was something Fergus was missing, something very important. “Eideann is not a Theirin Queen, though,” Alistair told him with a quiet sigh. “She is a Cousland Queen. And she makes her own choices.” Fergus swallowed, then looked down at Angus, whose short stump of a tail was banging ruthlessly on the carpet in joy.

“Andraste’s grace, how can I give that statement of half-baked confidence my blessing?” he exclaimed.

“And who would you rather she marry, if not the man she chose herself?” Alistair said with a small smile. Half-baked confidence? That was a new one. It stung a little, but it was true after a fashion. He had never needed any confidence in himself, only confidence in her. She was the Queen, and he followed. It was that simple to him. To Fergus, he was relying on Eideann, not loving her and protecting her. But Alistair had made it his life’s goal to look after her as much as he could. And sometimes he would fail. “The moments I cherish between us are the moments where we are simply…ourselves,” he explained, setting down his brandy and sighing. He glanced at the mabari like he were some conduit, some connection between them. Angus had learned to trust him. Angus followed him now, came at his calls. Angus, imprinted on Eideann, would respond to him. That must mean something. If he could win over a bloody mabari, he could win over his future brother-in-law.

 _Translate for me, Angus,_ he thought. _Make him see how much I love Eideann._ The idea itself was ridiculous enough to bring him back and center him again. He drew a deep breath, then paced his next words.

“I love Eideann, as she is in those simple moments when she is not trying to be anyone else. Eideann in the river by the Dalish camp; Eideann in the snows at Ostagar, gazing towards the south; Eideann in final rays of sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows in Fort Drakon; Eideann with her eyes shining in the glow from lyrium in the Deep Roads.” He gave a soft chuckle. “I assure you, my head and my heart are both sufficiently full of the real Eideann; the Eideann who sings the Solder and the Seawolf when we asked about her home; Eideann who climbed Alfstanna’s garden wall in Denerim to go in through the back door.” He smiled at that a little. “I love your sister. I have no love of titles, and I never have. I hate leading.” He set down the brandy snifter and bowed his head. “She makes me be a better version of myself. She was the one who made me King. And she was the one who made herself Queen. I did not choose this marriage, and perhaps neither did she, but we did choose one another. Somewhere in the middle of fighting the Blight, it became very clear that that was…enough.” He met Fergus’s gaze. “Somewhere along the way, I realized that protecting her was what I was meant to do. And I might fail at it like I did atop Fort Drakon. But it won’t be because I refuse to try.” Fergus considered him a moment, and the silence between them seemed to swallow his words, until they were pulled further and further away. And then they felt insignificant, and Alistair felt foolish for having said them. “Or,” he said, filling that heavy quiet with noise, “you can pretend I have not just made a complete lovesick fool of myself. Your choice.” Fergus gave a soft laugh, then shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I give you my blessing, brother. And I give Highever’s support to the Cousland-Theirin throne.” Something eased, and Alistair relaxed a little. How much of that had he been holding? Surely he should have turned to stone at the nerves? The very first statue of King Alistair Theirin-Cousland. Ah, yes, there was that. He wondered if anyone had told Fergus.

“By the way, she made me your heir, did you know?” Alistair laughed, refilling his brandy. He was already drinking, and his initial qualms seemed to be vanishing. “Made half the nobles in Ferelden sign the paper, so I wouldn’t get my head chopped off if the Landsmeet came out the wrong way.” Fergus gave a bark of laughter, shaking his head.

“Maker’s breath, she’s insufferable, and also a little bit genius,” he grinned, then he smiled and nodded towards Angus, who had lowered his head onto his paws and was watching them with raised eyebrows in curiosity. “I could hardly believe it when I saw Angus with you. Does he follow when you make a command?” To prove the point, Alistair gave a soft whistle, and the dog was up and alert in an instant, head up from his paws again as he sharpened into a deadly focus.

“Eideann started teaching me in Orzammar,” Alistair said quietly, reaching to stroke down the damp fur and quiet the dog with a soothing hand. “She was insistent I keep him with me.” Fergus sighed, then smiled and took up his glass again.

“To the things we get to keep,” he declared. They all three toasted that, and with it finished off the brandy bottle, Teagan taking the last draft directly from the neck before setting it aside atop the tabletop between the chairs. Then he rose, looking between them.

“I think,” he announced wearily, “it may be time to retire.” His grey gaze settled on Alistair, and he smiled slightly. “What do you think, little brother?” Alistair set down his glass and rose, and as he did Angus gave a big yawn and pushed himself onto his legs to follow. Fergus patted the dog’s head, then nodded.

“I will show you to your chambers myself,” he said.

Highever Castle proved larger than Alistair had anticipated. There was an entire back portion that seemed dedicated to the family chambers, and it was there that Fergus led them. They climbed up a spiral staircase to a small atrium open to the rainy sky where a garden blossomed in the center and small window benches lined the stone walls overlooking the hills on the one side and the sea on the other. Alistair paused to consider it: the view, misty and always moving; the chill in the air that made him feel cool and quiet and determined to bear it out; it made him think of Eideann all the more. Surely Highever had shaped Eideann as much as she now shaped the world. If it was always like this…

“Sometimes it’s foggy,” Fergus said beside him, “but it appears clear today.”

The entire atmosphere seemed to suit Teagan as well, who bade them farewell after Fergus told him which chambers were to be his. He had been there often enough he knew the ones.

That left Alistair and Fergus standing in the silence of the atrium, considering the roiling sea and the steady rain. That area of the castle was off limits to the other guests. They were well and truly alone then.

“I did not mean,” Fergus said quietly, “to be so aggressive earlier in my suspicions.” Alistair smiled shaking his head.

“You were concerned. Rightly so. I am forever concerned for Eideann’s welfare. I know exactly how exhausting it can be.” His smile slipped and he gazed sidelong to the Teryn wearily. “I miss her. I wish she were with us as well. She sent word around Satinalia, but her investigation continues, and it was mostly business. That might just because with Eideann, _everything_ is business.” Fergus smiled a little.

“Always down to business, determined to see it all done.” He bowed his head. “I have...” He was struggling for words, so he started again, and Alistair waited. “Under other circumstances, it would be appropriate for the King to be housed in our best chambers, but I am afraid I have erred in that particular regard. I have been using them instead. They were once my parent’s chambers, and I feel more comfortable in them than in my own since…well…”

_Since everything went absolutely wrong in a thousand little ways._

“I understand.” The ghosts yet walked for Fergus Cousland. Instead, the Teryn gave a thankful nod, and a shy smile.

“I thought perhaps you might like Eideann’s chambers instead?” he offered. Alistair had not really considered it, but it made perfect sense. It felt a little intrusive, and yet he was a bit nosy to see how she had lived before.

“I assure you, my Lord Fergus,” he said with a grin, “I am quite capable of sleeping anywhere you put me, be it tent, stables, barracks, woodsheds, Deep Road caverns, or your sister’s bed. I am sure I will manage. I have had worse.” Fergus just gave him a smile, shaking his head and leading him towards the doorway further into the chambers beyond.

“She likes your humor,” he said with a grin. “That’s good. I like knowing she has someone who makes her laugh.” What it meant to hear that…Alistair veritably glowed. He felt the warmth spread through him. Approval? He gave a soft chuckle as Angus plodded along at his side.

“I do my best, what can I say?” Alistair grinned in reply. “But she has a beautiful laugh, and I want to hear it as often as I can.” That was the truth.

_Maker, give me Eideann’s beautiful laugh as the final thing I hear in this world, and I will die a happy man._

“Thank you for saying that. For wanting that,” Fergus told him, leading him up the last of the steps towards the final chambers. There were stains on the carpets here too, and one set of chambers was entirely blocked off to one side of the hall – Fergus’s old chambers, Alistair guessed. “And for taking care of her while I was gone.” Alistair shook his head and smile as they drew up before the door to Eideann’s old chambers.

“She was the one taking care of me. I’m rubbish at it myself, you see. Can’t cook, can’t track things, can’t hunt. I’m just here to tell the jokes really,” he said, and then Fergus opened the door for him.

Eideann’s rooms were quiet and dim, though a small fire flickered in the hearth beside the bed. Angus immediately went to the carpet before the fire and circled round until he settled down. Eideann’s bed was a four-poster draped with green curtains and blankets and buried high with thick furs. And the entire room still smelled like her.

He lost himself in the scent and the memories.

“I hope it will do,” Fergus said quietly at his side. Alistair glanced back to him, raising an eyebrow and giving him a smirk.

“Oh I suppose so, since you won’t let me stay in the stables,” he grinned and the Teryn pursed his lips to subdue a smirk, shaking his head and crossing his arms. Fergus watched him then as he did a circuit of the chamber, running his hands over the top of a well-worn writing desk in the corner still piled high with books. He picked up the top one and smiled. “ _Ferelden: Folklore and History_ by Sister Petrine,” he read. Fergus, leaning in the doorway, smirked.

“Required reading, or perhaps she was bored.”Alistair opened the book and it fell easily to a specific page, implying it was the most read.

“Today, Highever is one of only two remaining terynirs,” he read in amusement, “making the Cousland family second in rank only the king.” He gave a soft chuckle and set the book down carefully, glancing back. “Not any longer, though. Sister Petrine will need to update her book, I fear.” He sighed, glancing about, then fixed his gaze on the Teyrn, who seemed quiet and a little bit sad in the dim light. Old haunting memories then. Quiet things that stirred up painful thoughts. Alistair sighed. “It’s…hard to picture her here,” he admitted. “The Eideann I love is always in armor, with short hair and quick on the draw with those blades of hers.” Fergus gave a small bow of head, pushing himself up.

“So is mine,” he told him gently. “Goodnight, Alistair?” Alistair gave him a quiet nod.

“Goodnight, Fergus,” he said, like he were giving permission. “Sleep well.” The door closed quietly behind the Teyrn. Alistair considered the rest of the chamber before reaching down to scruff Angus’s fur. The dog stirred but did not wake, simply kicking out in sleep. “Goodnight, Angus,” Alistair added softly, slipping his belt loose in the dim light and then draping his damp clothes over a chair before the fire to dry. And then he crawled into the bed that still smelled like Eideann.

It was like coming home. All he needed was her in his arms and the feeling of being joined with her, but that was unobtainable, so he settled for the comfort of her old chambers, glad to know that Fergus remembered Eideann in much the same way he did. She had not been changed by the Blight, not really, just given more edges, grown into her birthright. That was a comfort. He twisted to blow out the candle and then buried his face into the pillows with a final sigh of contentment.

_Soon, love. Soon._


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann, Anders, and Sigrun enter the Blackmarsh and find themselves dealing with an outbreak; Eideann finds Warden Kristoff, but realize too late that it was a trap; Velanna crosses paths with her old Clan and learns the hard way that sometimes time forces a change; Eideann, Anders, and Sigrun try to navigate their way out of the Blackmarsh Fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence (some gore)
> 
> Comments Always Welcome! :)

Blackmarsh was cold. Thin sheets of translucent ice sat in jagged shards on the dark and swampy pools. Tree limbs hung low and wilting, trailing branches into toxic waters over gnarled, skeletal roots. Eideann had dismounted somewhere along the path and continued on foot when the ground began to turn soggy.

The stories said the Blackmarsh was once home to a number of people, back during the Orlesian Occupation. An Orlesian Baroness once built herself a castle somewhere in its center, and the town exported peat to local farmers across Amaranthine and Denerim. But the town was lost, gone for many years, vanished without a trace. Blackmarsh was the home of ghost stories now, and creepy ones at that. 

Eideann did not believe in ghosts, or she was not sure she did. The visions at Kal’Hirol, or Ortan Thaig, and her experience with the ancient Elvhen ruins she had encountered made her wonder, but she was more inclined to see them as spirits or memories left lingering. She needed no explanation for how wrong Blackmarsh felt. She had felt that wrongness before. The entire place had the oppressive air she recognized from the Circle of Magi, and Anders at her side confirmed the Veil itself was very thin there. 

“It might tear at any moment,” he said, sounding very wary.

He had gotten over the incident with Jowan during the ride. After all, Anders did not hold stock with blood magic, and Jowan’s blood magic had led to the near destruction of all of Redcliffe. He knew enough of her dealings with Morrigan, himself, and Velanna to recognize Eideann’s qualms with Jowan had never been about his choosing the life of an apostate. Anders also understood her reasons for keeping the man alive and talking, though he would not thank for her for it. Eideann did not need his thanks or his approval. She had done what she needed to in order to win a war. And she would do it again. 

Some decisions she knew she could never make differently.

Sigrun was wrinkling her nose at the smell, but otherwise looked cheerful enough, probably because she did not feel the oppressive sensation, or maybe because everything else was still so new she had yet to distinguish it as abnormal. 

There was a path, long since overgrown and half-sunken into the mud. And worse still, Eideann could sense the Blight crawling all over the place. It felt different from before when she had sensed it, more wild and dangerous, like the land itself bore the corruption. She was not far from the Wending Wood, and the marsh grew out of that. It frightened her to think that perhaps the blighted darkspawn working for the Architect had already done their damage to this place. 

Whatever the case may be, she knew…if Warden Kristoff were still alive, she would find him here. The taint beckoned, and the Blightsong echoed darkly in the back of her mind. She felt drawn forward, and it scared her, but it also gave her strength. She was on the right track.

The swallowed road led them through the tangled trees and fetid waters. Eideann’s tracker senses were alert he entire time as she moved forward. She had her bow in her hand, not her swords since Sigrun was an up-close and personal sort of fighter. She needed a ranged combatant and it would need to be her. 

It was perhaps just as well, because there was something of the Blight ahead, and when she saw it, she needed all the distance she could to bring it down. The staggered, rotting fur and foul stench of decaying flesh hung about it, and the feeling of the Blight sick and slick slipped over her like oil or grease. Blightwolves. 

No…Blight werewolves. She grimaced, and drew back her bow before it noticed her. And then she fired.

Sigrun still had to meet it halfway to bring it down, and when it did fall, the dwarf stood over it, staring down with alarm and concern.

“What _is_ that?” she demanded. Eideann grimaced with distaste as she nocked another arrow to make sure she was ready for another assault. Wolves of all types travelled in packs.

“The Blight touches everything here,” she said. “And that includes beasts like these.”

“Is that a _werewolf_?!” Anders demanded, catching up with them. He had his staff out, just in case, and in his other hand he was holding the reins of his horse, which had tried to bolt. Eideann glanced back to see her own Forder had not made a move, and sighed a little, thankful for small miracles at least. 

“Yes,” she finally replied. “Yes it is, Anders.” If they were carrying the Blight, there truly was no hope for them. As much as it irritated her, she was going to have to kill this pack. She could not cure them of the taint even if she could cure them of their curse, though it was certainly testament to the strength of the Veil in the marsh that they were there. She thought of the Brecilian Forest again and a shudder went down her spine. “Be careful, alright?” Softer that, soft enough that it earned her a sharp look of concern from Anders and a faded smile from Sigrun. 

It took an hour of walking before something in the swamp changed. Blocks of masonry and stonework began to rise from the black waters, strangled by vines and trees and mud. At first it was only one or two, but before long entire houses emerged out of the mists. And then almost without a second warning they were within the walls of a town, rusting iron gates hanging ajar and loose on their hinges. 

The town was not Fereldan, that much was clear. Houses were crammed together, square and boxy shells half wasted away, into neat little crowded corners within the town’s square walls. At its center, a larger house, backing onto a small tower: a defensible castle with its own gates, but clearly not made to withstand any real threat, just a central location for whoever oversaw the town before it was lost.

There were no bodies amidst the wreckage and ruins, no remains, like everyone had just…disappeared. Eideann wondered if they had been drive out, or just swallowed by the mud or carried off by animals. 

What could do this to a town, so completely, so entirely? She gritted her teeth.

It was the back side of the town where the werewolves had made their lair. The stench from there was almost overpowering, and the entire place crawled with the Blightsong. There was no going forward until she had dealt with them, however, she knew. That was especially true if they had managed to bring down Kristoff. He was the objective, and she suspected a single man against a pack of werewolves would have been an easy target. Even three of them was an easy target.

She gathered Sigrun and Anders within one of the ruined homes, and there she also tied up the horses so they were sheltered a little. The three of them crouched within, Eideann facing the empty door so that she could see if something were coming, and she went over the plan.

“We don’t have the strength to meet them head on. We need to bottleneck them where we have the advantage.” She glanced toward the tower. “I’m going to climb that thing and see if we can’t bring it down over the steps. That means they’ll have to climb the rubble to reach us, and should give a little protection. Sigrun, you’ll be the bait. Get them into that courtyard.” The dwarf gave a grim-faced nod. Eideann glanced to Anders. “Think you can cover the courtyard in ice?” Anders narrowed his gaze.

“Why?” 

“Because even wolves are not immune to lightning. You hit anywhere in that courtyard after that, and they all feel the hurt. Sigrun will need cover, and I can’t think of a better way. I can take them out with arrows from the tower base, but you can’t stand against a swarm.” Anders gave a shaky breath, then nodded. 

“I’ll do what I can. But if they reach us…” It went without saying what would happen then.

“They won’t reach you,” she told him firmly, “because I’ll get in their way first.” The last time she had squared off against a werewolf, she had been left with some nasty scars, and they were the result of interrupted attacks. A real Blighted werewolf could rip her head off, she was sure. She looked back to Sigrun, who was the equivalent of a small snack in comparison, and pursed her lips. “Can you do it?” she asked. Sigrun nodded grimly.

“Well, I will or I won’t,” she said frankly, and that was about as much as anyone could hope for. 

She crept her way through the streets, Anders and Sigrun in tow. They left the horses in the shelter of the house. At the crossing, Sigrun broke away, and Eideann and Anders carried onward to the courtyard. 

The tower itself was crumbling, just as Eideann had determined. Two staircases wound their way up towards rotted doors that hung open on hinges that had long since snapped with time. Eideann motioned for Anders to stay there on the platform below, and he set about covering the courtyard in a film of thin ice. Eideann herself shouldered her bow and set to hauling herself up the crumbling brick to the base of the circular tower. By the time she reached the top, she was panting with the effort, but she circled around the stone structure until she found a few weaknesses in the architecture, and then she set about working the stones loose. 

The tower leaned precariously, wobbling, until at last with a final kick it gave way, and toppled down, bricks tumbling to create a barricade across one half of the steps. The sound echoed across the clearing. And in the distance, in response, the wolves began to howl.

Everything happened very quickly after that. True to her word, Sigrun came running, leading them on a chase through the ruins of the town. She was quick, like Eideann had known she would be, and when she hit the ice she slid forward, somehow keeping her feet. 

Eideann rained arrows down upon the wolves the moment she saw them, taking the first couple by surprise. The rest surged forward, snarling and howling, claws twisted by darkness and blight.

“Anders!” Eideann called as they drew close, and in response lightning split the misty sky. 

Half of them died immediately, their bodies charred and smoking, the slick ice turned to puddles of deadly water in the wake of the attack. Others gave sharp whines of pain, or roars so loud Eideann felt her heart jump. Her arrows found a few more, and a couple fell, but the rest were closing in fast. 

Eideann dropped her bow, drew her swords, and leaped down onto the rubble of the tower that formed a path of sorts for her to get down quickly. She drove at the first one as Sigrun turned, and together they cut through the creature. The second came down too, claws raking across her arm and causing her to give a sharp hiss of pain. She could not slow, however, so she pushed through it. She could tend to that later.

Or rather, Anders could, because in that moment she felt a wash of magic hit her, and knew he was already on it. The chill hit her hard, but she battled through that too. 

The last of the Blighted werewolves fell as Sigrun cut its legs out from under it. Eideann speared it through the skull with a flourish, then yanked her sword free and stepped back panting, wary of the puddles.

“Well,” Sigrun said, catching her breath, axes in her hands as she stared at the creatures, “that went about as well as it could have.” Eideann gave a soft chuckle, then sheathed her swords and took the steps back two at a time to climb the rubble for her bow. That reclaimed, she took stock.

“There’s still blighted things in the marsh itself,” she said. “And we should follow them. I want them all dead, or it might spread into the Wending Wood.”

“Kill darkspawn things,” Sigrun grinned. “Got it.” Anders just looked surly, but gave a nod.

There was nothing left in the town, so Eideann passed to the next gate, where she broke the chain that held the locks with King’s Justice. Beyond, the marsh was colder, and if possible darker, and Anders was dragging his feet.

“There’s something wrong here,” he told her quietly, and Eideann gave a nod. It felt off. It felt twisted and warped. 

The way was lit by odd lamps flickering in the mists. That was the first warning. They should have gone out long, long ago. But instead empty flames dances, wisps that floated in the marsh-fog, and Eideann gritted her teeth.

“Anders,” she said softly, “exactly _how_ thin is the Veil here?” He met her gaze darkly but could not reply. He did not need to, because they found out moments later almost by accident.

It opened up before them like a giant tear, ripping apart and flickering with green and sickly tendrils as the fade poured into the real world, the barrier broken. Eideann stared at it, feeling a little sick. She had seen something much the same at Soldier’s Peak before Avernus had sealed it. And she had felt the same imposing weight in the Circle tower, or in the Brecilian Forest.

“It almost looks like…some manner of…hole, in the very air itself,” Sigrun said quietly, and Eideann caught her lower lip between her teeth.

“Expected,” she said softly, “but this complicates things. Be on the lookout for demons too.” Sigrun’s eyes were shining, but she gave a nod. Anders just made a disgusted sound.

“A tear in the Veil,” he grumbled. “It must be weaker in this marsh than I’d thought.” 

“Any chance of closing it?” Eideann asked, though the process itself seemed difficult. Anders made a face, then sighed.

“Not alone. I’d need help to do it. It’s not that big yet, but the Veil is so thin here that trying to close it could just open more tears in the process. Best not to attract the attention.” Eideann nodded, surrendering to the reality of the situation. 

“Then that is a task for another day,” she said. “Today, darkspawn.” 

Not too much further they finally found the first signs of the Grey Warden Kristoff. It was a camp, the fire long since cold, ashes scattered by the breeze. The tent flaps were loose and tattered, swaying in the eerie wind that rippled through the marsh. A small cot was within, and a satchel, implying Kristoff had meant to return, but the Warden himself was nowhere to be found, and that made Eideann very wary. 

“He’s dead then,” she said softly, and it earned her a glare from Anders.

“We don’t know that for certain,” he insisted, but it appeared the most likely outcome. The camp was in such a state that it had clearly been abandoned for some time. 

Eideann dug through the satchel, finding a few meager belongings and a copper locket with a picture of a pretty young woman with a gentle smile. She closed her eyes as she closed her hand over it. Aura, his wife. It could not be anyone else. 

There were also old papers, stained and crumbling. She brought them out carefully, flipping through them, and realized they were records gleaned from the ancient town. A few personal letters, official birth and death records. She narrowed her eyes. Something did not match up. One of the papers was a receipt, a significant sum of gold handed over in exchange for three young women. Another mentioned the standing stone circle not far from the town buried now within the marsh where dark sacrifices were said to take place. Eideann lowered the papers. 

“Blood magic,” she said quietly, glancing to Anders. He looked back, his gaze solemn.

“Why?” he asked. Eideann handed him the documents, and he skimmed through them, flipping the delicate pages carefully, until he game to a note in a looped and official looking hand.

“It is conceivable,” he read, “that using their blood to reinvograte me traps their souls in the Fade. Perhaps they become the same demons, ghosts, spirits who invade my dreams. I – no, it doesn’t matter. They are nothing – peasants! – while I am a baroness of Orlais.” Eideann took away the papers before he could do them damage, slipping them back into Kristoff’s satchel and shaking her head.

“What does that mean?” Sigrun asked, “reinvigorate me?” Eideann drew a deep breath.

“She killed the townsfolk to keep her youth, so she might live forever.” 

“She was a mage,” Anders said, his hands closed into fists. “A mage destroyed this place.” 

“We don’t know that yet,” Eideann said quietly. “With all the darkspawn about, that may not be true.” He gave her a flat look, like he were daring her to back that up with facts, but she had none to give, so she simply sighed. “Come on. We are here to deal with the darkspawn and find Warden Kristoff. Maybe, by Andraste’s grace, he’s still alive somewhere in this Maker-forsaken place.” Anders gave a quiet nod.

The trails were harder to find the further into the marsh they trekked. Mud and dark water had covered much of the old paths. Here and there, the pressed imprints of the werewolves and other creatures were preserved in the muck, but the way forward was mostly unintelligible. 

Eideann followed the Blight. It was the only lead she had. If Kristoff was alive, she would be able to sense him, and that means she would be able to find him. If he was not alive, then she had to put an end to whatever it was that was.

They found the caccoons first, the twisting spindly things that they had encountered first in Kal’Hirol. Sigrun gave a noise of dismay, and Eideann pulled them up short.

There were only a few, but those few were significant. How had they gotten there? They were larval forms of some new darkspawn, and that meant a Broodmother somewhere. Did the web of darkspawn corruption extend so far under Amaranthine that it could break the surface there? 

She wished a moment that Velanna were with them, knowing that fire could kill the creatures. But the more she waited and considered the facts, the more she came to realize that there were only a handful of the pupae, and none of the usual mess. 

_Were they moved? Why? By who…?_

“Commander, look.” In the distance, on the far side of the caccoons, was a body, laying in the mud, so thick with grime it took her a moment to recognize it for what it was: Warden blue and silver armor, Orlesian issued. Kristoff. “You were right,” Anders said quietly, and Eideann was not glad of it. There were times she wished very much she might be wrong.

She drew her swords, since the grubs were a close combat fight, and closed her eyes a moment. She still could not sense anything of them, but there was a darkness somewhere…a few darkspawn perhaps? It would make sense. Something had moved the caccoons from Kal’Hirol. 

If they had moved the caccoons, that meant that this was the purview of the Mother. Eideann shifted, tightening her hands on King’s Justice and Duty, and thought back to the other blighted swamp far to the south. And then she took a step forward.

They could sense her, of course, because of the Archdemon blood within her now, or whatever it was that had made her presence apparent to the Lost in Kal’Hirol. They emerged, squeezing free of their tight burrows to spill to the ground. And they came for her, little jaws clacking and clicking. 

Eideann saw lightning ripple through the creatures as Anders reacted too, and she set upon the closest with a roar of rage and disgust. 

_No,_ she thought. _You will NOT have the surface too. I have done TOO much to drive you back to give in now._ The Children squirmed and clawed for her, and Sigrun slid in beside her, taking advantage of the height of her reach to dart through and attack a second of the grubs. 

There were nowhere near as many as there had been at Kal’Hirol. These were simply the primary form, not the evolved creatures that had sprouted legs in the depths near the Broodmothers. They fought with the Wardens, and their died on their blades.

And then Eideann crossed to the fallen body of Warden Kristoff.

The mud about him was tinged dark with spilled blood long since blended into the ground. He had begun to decompose, his flesh rotting from his face. The smell made Eideann wince, pausing her approach a moment. Then she closed the final distance, nose wrinkled, and crouched down to check if there were any clues on him about what had happened.

She felt the Blight about her and sighed, hanging her head a moment. Of course it was an ambush. She had forgotten for a moment that the darkspawn she faced were capable of such things now. She rose, the ring of Sigrun’s axes being drawn echoing across the clearing, and turned as her Wardens backed in closer about the Kristoff’s fallen body. The darkspawn emerged from the marsh, thick with its fetid stench and the taint of the blight. Some she could sense – regular darkspawn then. They also worked for this Mother. The others were Awakened, and those grinned at her with jagged teeth and fixed her with eyes too intelligent to dismiss. One among their number drew forward, a sword in its hand of jagged darkspawn iron, and at his side a few more of the Children, somehow under control. It wore a cloak of deep bloody crimson over armor tinged black. And its face was a mass of black markings. It gave her a cruel smile.

“Yes,” it said, eyes red and dark. “That is your Grey Warden.” Eideann stared the creature down, a bitter sneer on her face. “The Mother told it to me that if he were lured to this place and slain, that in time you would come. And the Mother…she was right. The Mother is _always_ right.” Eideann gave a soft laugh, not out of amusement but rather at the way this had played out. Of _course_ the darkspawn had deliberately lured her here. Of _course_ the Mother wanted her dead. 

She tilted her head a little, meeting the creature’s eyes with a cold stare.

“Did she say you’d pay for killing a Grey Warden?” she said simply. Her voice was like ice. The darkspawn made an odd gurgling noise, and it took Eideann a moment to realize that the creature was laughing at her now. 

“The Mother she is no prophet,” he said, “but she is most clever. Oh yes, that she is.” It took a step forward and Eideann shifted her stance, gripping her sword tighter. King’s Justice, the one that repelled the Blight. Let it try to come closer.

“I, here before you, is the First,” it said. An introduction? “And I am bringing to you a message.” Eideann ran a tongue along her gums, then shook her head. “The Mother,” the beast continued, “she is not permitting you to further _his_ plan, whether this you know or not. So she is sending you a gift.”

And then it did…something. It reached out its hand, and the world seemed to flood with magic, like when Anders or Velanna or Morrigan or Wynne did magic. It was nothing she had seen from a darkspawn before, except the Lost in Kal’Hirol. There was a bright glow, a flash of green, and about them the Veil shuddered. And then everything went white.

***

Her injuries were much better, thanks to the work of the shemlen healer. It pricked her pride to think she had needed their help. She had tried, of course, but her way was not the Vir’Atashan. She would have made a terrible Keeper. 

She was still weary, and she ached all over, but she had survived. And that was the important part. And now she hated darkspawn all the more. She spent her days in quiet, riding the shemlen horse at the pace Warden-Lieutenant Keenan set, and she spent her nights before the campfire, bundled in the fur-lined Warden cloak, hunched over the pages of a book she was rapidly filling with everything she could remember to put down. 

She had, for the most part, avoided speaking with the others, though Oghren had drunk too much the night before and she had made sure to get him back for his joke about dwarven babies by providing him some unhelpful relief in the form of itchweed. That would teach him to tell her lies. 

That night was no different. She sat at the campfire, trying her best to put into words with what little energy she had left, using only a stick of charcoal she had sharpened to a point with a knife. The words about Kal’Hirol still would not come, though it was a story she wanted to tell. The pages before were filled with stories of the Creators: Andruil and Anaris; the Slow Arrow; Elgar’nan and Mythal…any she could remember. The pages since were her own story: the Architect, Seranni, lessons learned from Keeper Ilshae.

She hated admitting it, but she missed the woman, though she would never said it aloud. There were days when she wondered what she might say to her now, were the Keeper to see her wandering with a band of shemlen and durgen’len, fighting the darkspawn. She had, of course, heard that Keeper Ilshae and the others of the clan she had left behind were involved in the Battle of Denerim, and had spent time at Soldier’s Peak. The healer who had helped her – Petra, was it? – had said Keeper Ilshae had been instrumental in providing healing to the armies battling the Blight, and in exchange the Commander – she was a shemlen Queen, Velanna had learned too – would give the Dalish lands to the south. Another thing to prick her pride, but she knew that it was foolish. She had seen what this…Eideann…could do, and knew her strength. If sometimes she was a foolish shemlen girl, at least her heart was in the right place.

She sighed, bending over the book, and there was the soft sound of something sliding into a seat beside her.

“You are,” came the gentle tones of the shemlen noble Howe, “very quiet, my Lady.” She wrinkled her nose, snapping her book shut about the charcoal and glaring at him.

“ _My Lady_ ,” she said archly, “is such a human thing to call someone.” He gave her a slightly amused look.

“It is a term of respect. You think it’s human to be respectful?” She glared.

“Now you’re mocking me.” What did this human know of respect? They had destroyed the Dales, and before that destroyed Arlathan. They were destructive and…

_And that is not true at all._

“I think,” Nathaniel Howe said, glancing to the flames, “you’re a lovely woman, and due some respect. So I call you a lady.” She sniffed, and he gave a small smile, but it slipped when she set her book down beside her in a curt manner and crossed her arms. 

“So you not only gave up on killing the Grey Warden who murdered your father, you actually joined the order,” she said airly, knowing it for a cold blow. Let him leave her alone, now. He raised an eyebrow.

“Are you trying to pick a fight, Velanna? Baiting me like this is juvenile.”

“I just wanted to know how you felt,” she said dismissively. As if he knew anything of respect. Ha! They were all the same.

Deep down inside she knew she was being unfair. 

“How do you feel,” he said quietly, “knowing you murdered all those people because you were too arrogant to check your facts?” She sniffed again.

“Warm and fuzzy,” she shot back, but at his raised eyebrow she looked away into the flames and hunched her shoulders a little. “I…may have misjudged you a little.” The tension was gone in a moment. Nathaniel Howe was smiling again.

“Just a little?” he said gently. She drew a breath.

“I…sometimes paint all humans with the same brush.” He held out his hands to warm them before the fireplace. In the distance, Oghren tramped back and forth on guard, walking off his latest angry urges. Nathaniel Howe shook his head.

“As long as it’s such a pretty brush, I don’t mind,” he said with a light smile. Something caused her pause. Her gaze slid sidelong to him, but he was not watching her.

“I’m sure I don’t know what that means,” she said simply. He just gave a soft chuckle.

“It means your apology is appreciated, my lady,” he replied. “But it can’t be the first time someone’s said you’re pretty.” She stared then, aghast at the thought, entirely confused. And then her eyes narrowed.

“And if it is?” Her own voice sounded smaller than she remembered. She had been trying to sound dismissive. Instead she came across as…defensive. He simply glanced to her looking a little surprised. 

“Then you must not talk to many people,” he told her. She looked away, rocking a little in her seat.

“Most people,” she muttered, “are not worth talking to.” There was a quiet silence between them then, an air of comeraderie she had not felt for a very long time, and she took a moment to explore what it meant. She had last felt it with Seranni, with her Clan. The thought made her…she was not sure. Uncomfortable? Or maybe…nostalgic? She wondered again how they all were.

There was a shout. Oghren.

“Fires,” he called, and they were on their feet in moments, looking out towards the north. Keenan, Lucan at his side, grimaced.

“They don’t look like darkspawn.” Velanna studied the patterns, and her mouth went a little dry.

“They’re Dalish,” she said softly. “We should… _I_ should…warn them. They may not know about the darkspawn in the area.” 

_They may be your Clan._ She did not know if she wished it were true or false. Seeing them again would be hard. But she was homesick. 

Keenan met her gaze and nodded, and Nathaniel reached for his bow.

“I’ll come with you,” he said softly. “Just in case there’s any trouble.” She narrowed her eyes.

“From my People?” she said irritably. 

“No, in case there are darkspawn in the area,” he clarified. 

_Oh._ For that she had no comeback, so he followed her as she crossed the grasses. She did wish for the briefest of moments she had her old clothing instead of her Warden garb, but the Dalish respected the Grey Wardens as well, and she hoped it would send a message.

But as they drew close, she realized something was wrong. There was not nearly a big enough fire for an entire Clan. There were only three aravels sitting in the darkness. And there were no halla. She felt a wave of concern and hurried her pacing. If something was wrong, she had to help. 

There were only a handful of Dalish sitting about the fire as they approached, and all of them rose as she drew close. Two had nocked arrows. Another stepped forward, holding up a hand, and her worst fears were realized. She knew these people. This _was_ her Clan. What they had been reduced to…

“Velanna…” 

“Merin.” Merin’s eyes were cold. He stood, bow at his back, sword at his hip, in scout armor, considering her with a frown.

“You know these elves?” Nathaniel asked. Velanna ignored him. 

“Well, well,” Merin said snidely, “this is a surprise, you travelling with…” 

“Humans. Yes,” Velanna cut in coldly. “Believe me, the irony does not escape me, clanmate.” She considered the others, but Merin gave a bitter shake of head. So few. What had happened to the rest? Not many had stayed with her. Were they killed fighting the darkspawn? Had humans attacked? She had abandoned them. But they needed her now. 

The conflict stood clear within her. She still had to find Seranni. But if her Clan was in trouble…

“We are no longer your Clan, Velanna,” Merin said coldly. Velanna froze. Behind her, Nathaniel Howe was deathly silent. Merin’s gaze flickered between them. “You were exiled. You do not _have_ a Clan. We – ”

“Stop.” Velanna heard her voice echo across the distance, like it had come from somewhere else entirely. Merin drew up short, and Velanna stood a little taller, stiffening and bristling with the pain. Even so badly wounded and they did not want her. Could they not see she had done it all for them?! They were her family…she…

_The Wardens are a family, if you choose it to be._ She froze, staring beyond them all then, beyond the Clan before her that did not want her back, beyond the small fires and the damaged aravels, beyond the fields of Amaranthine. She thought of boughs of pine, of a sprig of holly in her hair, of her first new clothes in how long, of Seranni, the Deep Roads, the Architect and his vile plan, Kal’Hirol and the twisted Broodmothers and the darkspawn. No. That was her purpose now. That was her enemy. And the only one who had ever cared enough for her to stay at her side – Seranni – was gone. 

“I do not wish to speak of this,” she said quietly, her eyes dark and narrow, and Merin met them. There was recognition in his eyes there, an understanding at the distance between them now, a permanent break. Velanna wet her lips. There was only one more thing left to say. “Merin, the others who left with me…they are dead. And Seranni is gone, taken by the darkspawn.” She felt Nathaniel stir behind her then.

“If she is still alive,” he said quietly, “we will find her.” Merin’s gaze slipped to the human at her back, and he eased a little.

“Thank you, Warden,” he said quietly. Ah, so they had been at the Battle of Denerim like she had heard, to recognize the uniform that only Ferelden Wardens wore. Velanna bowed her head. “Ilshae warned her not to go with you, Velanna,” Merin’s voice washed over her. “You see what you’ve brought on her?!” Velanna’s eyes snapped up, rage flickering like a fire inside her. 

_What she brought? Seranni had gone with the Architect of her own volition! Seranni had - !_ Mythal’Enaste!

“Then tell Ilshae that she was right!” she snapped. “Oh, I can see her smug - !” 

“Ilshae has passed on.” Merin’s voice brought a chill to her heart. He narrowed his eyes at her, shaking his head angrily. “You know _nothing_ but hatred. The Clan is better off without your _poison_.” Velanna stared, and for a moment they did not speak. And then Merin turned away, waving a hand at her. “I think it’s time you left, Outsider. Andruil guide your path,” he told her shortly. Velanna stared a moment, her ears burning, her anger banked in a bucket of ice water. And then her gaze slipped to the others, who looked equally upset at her presence. Her lips parted, and she drew a breath.

“Dareth shiral,” she said softly, and then turned on her heel to stalk back towards their own camp.

“Velanna?” Nathaniel said, hurrying to keep up. She ignored him. He took a few extra steps to fall in beside her. “Velanna.”

“Do _not_ make a fuss over me!” she snapped, stopping in her tracks and wheeling on him. “I am…I…I will be…” And then it would not stop. She tore away, taking off running, off into the darkness of the night to put some distance between them. 

She ran until the firelight was distant, until she reached a large rock emerging from the field, and then she climbed it until she was sitting atop it. 

And then, finally, she buried her head in her arms and cried. 

_The earth wept and Mythal was born. Let my tears too bring peace._

***

The world was a weird and hazy fog, a miasmic imitation of the Blackmarsh, broken by spires of black. Above it all a sickly green sky roiled and turned, and somewhere in the distance a crescent island atop which were black spires and twisting columns. The Black City. Eideann checked herself first. Warden armor, usual blades. That done, she considered the rest.

The darkspawn were there too. How in the Maker’s name had a darkspawn forced them all into the Fade. She drew her blades, and the First before her pushed itself up to its feet.

“No,” it wailed. “We have come to the Fade as well! It cannot be this!” Eideann narrowed her gaze, taking up a fighting stance, shifting her foot outward a little. The ground felt odd, like it had in the Fade at the Circle, spongy, like it was only half real. She glared at the First. It looked about warily, trying to piece together what had happened. Clearly the plan had gone wrong, or its plan anyway. This Mother’s plan might be going off without a hitch, for all she knew. “The Mother she has deceived me!” the First wailed. “I am betrayed! Now I am being trapped in the Fade with you! Augh! I am the _fool_!” Eideann gave a sneer.

“Looks like someone was considered expendable,” she said curtly. The darkspawn narrowed its eyes at her in anger.

“I am the First! I am not being expendable!” it raged. The First of its kind? The First awakened? Or the First of the Mother’s faction? She was not sure. “Both the Grey Warden and the Mother shall be learning this!” Whatever it was, the First did not appear to be on the Mother’s side anymore. Its loyalties were as fluid as ever for darkspawn. 

At the creature’s feet, the Children squirmed, the other darkspawn carried into the Fade almost biting at the bit to be upon them. Eideann shifted her grip on her swords. The First retreated, stepping backwards, and Eideann let him go for now, focusing instead on those that still lay in her path. She could let him wander for a while. The most important thing was beating him back to the living world, where he could kill their bodies where they lay by Kristoff’s in the Blackmarsh. And she was beginning to suspect, given how firm the setting seemed to be, that the answer lay in the ethereal town at the center of the realm of the Fade. 

“A demon rules this place,” Anders said flatly. “Be wary.” And then the fight began. 

Aside from the handful of Children, the other darkspawn were the usual kind. Eideann left those to Sigrun and Anders, and went for the Children herself. She was angry now, and impatient, and the fact that this trip had been sprung so completely made her more irritable. 

When the darkspawn were dead, she paused to take stock, to try and work through what exactly had happened.

A second Awakened darkspawn had used magic from the Fade. And both of them worked for the Mother. What connection the Mother had with the Fade she did not know, but none of the Architect’s forces had seemed capable of tapping into that power.

They had come to the part of the Fade ruled by whatever demon had destroyed Blackmarsh. The Baroness had done much harm in the area over the years she had engaged in blood sacrifices, and powerful demons could easily have been drawn towards the source of so much death, pressing against the Veil, weakening it. 

She had been lured there by Kristoff’s disappearance, a deliberate plan that had been established before she had ever arrived in Amaranthine. The Mother had not only known someone would come looking, but that they would be a Grey Warden, and the goal had been to stop them from participating in _his_ plan. She presumed this _he_ was the Architect. After all, this was a Civil War, and that meant the Wardens were involved by proxy. The Architect had taken them prisoner, taken their blood. What his plan was, she did not yet know, but he was awakening darkspawn, trying to break them from the Blightsong, and it worked in a general sense. The trouble was that they were not immune to the call of the Archdemon, just the general Blightsong that echoed through their heads. If his plan was to break all the darkspawn from that compulsion, which is what she was slowly coming to suspect, then he was failing. Worse, that meant that the Mother’s faction was determined to hold onto that hive mind at all costs. This Mother wanted the Grey Wardens dead because the Grey Wardens were somehow instrumental in the process of Awakening the darkspawn. She did not like to think why or what that might mean. And the fact that the Grey Warden Utha remained at the Architect’s side…

She shook her head. For the moment that was secondary. They needed to escape.

The Fade seemed a fairly accurate reflection, for all its oddities and warped realities. It looked as Blackmarsh once would have looked, houses where now there was only mulch, boats on the lake that stretched towards the Amaranthine Ocean, and the town fully constructed in the distance. The paths that had been swallowed by the marsh were paved again, or at least obvious. Eideann glanced to Sigrun and Anders, and Anders gave her a bitter look. Sigrun, however, was grinning. 

“This is the Fade? Where humans dream?” she asked. 

“Technically,” Eideann began. “You’re…only here mentally. Your body is back in the real world. This is just a dream of what once was.”

“That’s the village!” Sigrun said, breaking in, excited. “So…we’re in a dream of a forgotten place? Wow. That’s…profound.” Eideann shook her head with a sigh.

“The village was not entirely forgotten,” Anders said flatly, “or else it would not even be reflected here. Something lingers that remembers.” Eideann narrowed her gaze.

“Is it possible that the spirits that the Baroness wrote of were the fallen?” Anders shrugged, testing the ground beneath his feet was solid.

“Perhaps. Mages are not alone in trying to answer those questions, and no one’s ever really managed it yet. It’s more a matter of belief than a matter of reality for the time being.” Eideann drew a deep breath, then nodded. 

“Whatever the case,” she finally said decisively, “we have to escape before that darkspawn manages it, and there’s only one place that we’ll be able to manage it.” She set off then in the direction of the village, keeping her head down. 

The paths were clearer, though there were a few demons and shades drawn to the weaknesses in the Veil. The places where once the Veil tears stood were not visible on this side, however. There was only a feeling of being nearer to something. What demons confronted them, they killed, though many were content to leave them be.

With the ease of the paths, reaching the town did not take too long. Eideann led them up to the gates, since she had no better idea. She was surprised, however, to find that not only was the village restored, but also its inhabitants. People milled about, spirits trapped in the Fade, crying about missing children or fearful for their lives under the reign of the Baroness.

“Do you think she’s still here?” Anders asked, wary, and Eideann grimaced.

“Do you think it’s really the Baroness if she is?” she replied. He set his jaw and gave no other response. 

At the gate, a guard stood, and he seemed confused to see them approach. He hailed them as they did, however, as all guards should, and Eideann crossed to him. 

“Halt!” he said in an untested voice. “Who enters the Blackmarsh?” Eideann gave a small soldier’s bow, trying to work out what best to say. If it was a trapped spirit, it had not been in the real world for over fifty years. She could hardly introduce herself as the Queen of Ferelden and demand to be taken to the Baroness. Instead, she settled on trying to work out how aware the man was he dwelled now in the Fade.

“This isn’t still the Blackmarsh, is it?” she asked him. He hesitated. 

“This is - !” He drew up short, then drew a deep breath. “I don’t know where this is.” Well at least the man did not believe he was still back at home. “We’ve been here so long at her mercy,” he explained. “I almost forget what it was like before.” So he knew what was happening, just not the where or how. Eideann sighed, biting her lip a little in thought. The guard perked up a little. “There’s a spirit that has come to free us,” he said cheerfully. “Perhaps you could help him?” Eideann gave a nod, curious. 

“I’ll do what I can,” she promised, and he stepped aside, waving her through the gate. She pondered it as they walked the cobblestones that had long ago disappeared in the real world. The houses were still standing there, and the wall around the town was imposing and protective again. “What sort of spirit do you think this is, Anders?” She asked. He was the mage. He was the Spirit Healer.

“Compassion,” he suggested, “or maybe valor? Justice? Take your pick. We won’t know until we meet him.” 

“I suppose we had best go and see what can be done then,” Eideann sighed. Sigrun beside her grinned.

“This is so exciting!” she said. “Look at this place! The colors and the…well the way things move when you’re not looking at them directly…is this what dreams are like? Dwarves don’t dream, and I’ve never wondered before.” Eideann raised an eyebrow, giving a small shake of her head.

“Sometimes,” she said, and decided against telling Sigrun she would understand dreams soon enough. She only hoped that this particular dream did not turn out like the ones that haunted the nights of Wardens. There was already one darkspawn too many for her liking here. Worse, she knew that the trap had been sprung to keep her there. The longer it took to escape, the longer before she could warn the others at the Vigil, assuming they had made it back there safely.

_I won’t be stuck in the Fade again,_ she thought with irritation. _I’ll get out if I have to kill the First and Baroness to do it._ And knowing her previous experiences in the Fade, that was precisely what she would have to do.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An encounter with the Baroness leaves Eideann, Anders, and Sigrun with another problem to contend with; Justice struggles to return to the Fade; Eideann's messages reach Alistair and Fergus in Highever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Violence, gore (mostly description)
> 
> Comments always welcome ;)

He felt the creepy sensation of being watched as the spirits of the dead gathered about the gates. They were curious. These outsiders – for that was of course what they were – were not spirits like them. And they wore strange armor. 

Anders felt a few of them bristle, curious and desperate, and gave a small shudder. It had always been strange to walk in the Fade. He had been afraid of it as a child. It was full of things that followed him and would not leave him alone. In dreams he was vulnerable, and like all apprentices would wake up in nightmares. Nightmares were common now, and a different sort, but he had learned to cope with nightmares long ago.

After his escape attempts, he had ended up in solitary confinement, and there it was all he could do not to sleep as much as possible. He used the Fade as an escape, dreams as a place to hide. The spirits came to speak to him, and when his will gave out he spoke back, spending hours with the only company he could find. Some days he had wondered if he was not going mad. Some days he knew he probably already was. 

This was not anything like those times. Here the spirits were desperate, still lingering because they felt a part of the world, souls that could not rest. They were not the spirits of the Fade but the spirits of people. Anders was not sure if they were the same thing or not, but one thing was clear, there was only one true Fade Spirit among them, and it was wearing a fierce set of ethereal armor as it hammered on the gates of the Fade version of the Blackmarsh tower where they had battled the werewolves. 

“The mansion will not protect you, fiend!” it called, and its voice echoed in the way of spirits. “Come out and face your crime!”

“We aren’t afraid of you any longer!” one of the others cried. The rest were pressing at the gates, which would not move.

“The witch hides! Break down the gate!” another called.

“Be cautious, my friends!” the Spirit insisted. “The Baroness has power within her lair, and she well knows it! We rush in at our peril.” Wonderful, the Baroness. He felt an anger he stifled as best he could, determined not to let it shape the Fade around him. The place was tumultuous enough without his feeding the negative energy. But the Baroness’s blood magic and ritual had destroyed the village, torn the Veil. If she were still there, still alive within…

He wished he were anywhere else, even Kal’Hirol. At least Nate had been in Kal’Hirol. He wondered how the man’s head was doing. Since that evening in the library in Bann Esmerelle’s estate, they had not had the chance to be alone. Stolen glances, quiet touches. Nate made no secret of him, but he was a discreet man by nature, and kept what lay between them between them.

Whatever it was. It was nothing like what Anders knew from before. The rushed urgency of the Circle broke down all the barriers that made such things slow. He was not sure what Nate was thinking or what might come next. In the Circles, there was never a guarantee of a next regardless. But…but Anders was sure…

He shook his head.

_Focus._ The thought stiffened, making the world more concrete, and the Spirit of Justice looked back, disturbed at the change in the world enough to take notice of them. Anders felt the flicker of the spirits about him, the soft glow of their energy, like lights in the darkness, and stilled himself, considering the spirit before them. 

“And who comes now? More minions of the Baroness?” the Spirit asked, staring them down with a level of severity Anders rarely saw in most spirits. Not compassion then. Valor perhaps? And then it tempered a little. “Or yet more helpless souls she has tormented?” The fire went out of its voice. It sounded…pained. Not Valor. Something else. 

“We are Grey Wardens,” said Commander Eideann in her normal authoritative I’m-the-boss-so-listen-up tone. “Brought here against our will.” The Spirit sighed. 

“I am Justice,” it said, and the pieces fit. Anders felt something ease at finally knowing. Justice was a temperamental sort of spirit, but not void of feeling or heart. It sought to equalize the scales, restore the balance. Justice was good. “I have watched this place and seethed at the wrongs visited on these poor folk,” Justice explained, “and now I seek to aid them.” Anders felt it fill him with purpose to hear the spirit speak. 

_Careful,_ he reminded himself. _It’s a spirit all the same. Its passions will rub off on you if you’re not paying attention._ He needed to be strong, to temper those feelings. A spirit was an idea, and an idea without context or containment could expand outward until it swallowed everything indiscriminately. 

“Once,” one of the spirits at the gate said. A few of them had turned to join them too, having had no luck at the gate. “We lived in the real world and the Baroness ruled over us. She took our children and used their blood to work dark and evil magic!” There were tears on her face, angry and helpless. Another of the spirits took over.

“When we burned down her mansion,” he said, “she cast one final spell that brought our spirits here. We’ve been trapped ever since, still under her rule.” 

It had been fifty years, half a century since that had happened. Maker’s blood! 

Sigrun shifted beside him, glaring at the Commander.

“We _have_ to help these people!” she declared, either drawn in by Justice’s influence or else really that passionate about it. Anders liked to believe it was the latter. 

“I think,” Anders said simply, “that since the Baroness trapped these people here, that she’s our best chance of getting out.” That much was true. This was her realm. Dealing with spirits and demons was a tricky business, and trying to navigate the complexities of the Fade required some forethought. They needed a fixed goal, a purpose, and a plan, or they risked getting dragged up. Even if they could free these spirits here now, there was no guarantee it would transport their own party back to the Blackmarsh in the real world, and if they did help the spirits there, what benefit to the spirits themselves? They were not trapped here, except by their own suffering. They needed to move on, head to the Maker’s side beyond the Fade, not linger. Helping them would not bring them back either. There were no bodies for them to return too. It was, frankly, too late, as much as he hated to admit it.

But the look that Eideann Cousland gave him at his voicing his thoughts was the darkest he had earned from her yet.

“We can’t just leave it like this. There is no guarantee the Baroness will even help us, and I don’t know that we really want her help if that’s the case.” Anders gave her a glare back.

“So we should kill her before we know?” he demanded.

“Tell me, stranger,” Justice said, calling back their attention. “Will you help us in this righteous task? The Baroness and her minions are powerful, but you seem an able sort. Your aid would be welcome.” Anders shook his head, but Eideann Cousland simply narrowed her gaze.

“This…Baroness,” she said instead of giving her answer. “She was a blood mage from the real world.”

“From the world of mortals,” Justice replied grimly, “as are all these people.” 

“We finally rose up against her evil,” the spirits with him insisted, “and this is what she did to us. I can’t even imagine what happened to our families.” Eideann’s eyes softened a little and she considered them.

“The village is overgrown, a swamp now, the houses destroyed. No one lives there any longer,” she said softly. “I am here to mend what was done, to drive away the evil that has been reflected in the real world.” 

“Has it been so long?” the spirit woman said despairingly. She clasped her hands and bowed her head, looking away, the impact of it hitting them hard. “How many years have we been held here?!” Eideann drew a breath, shaking her head. At least there was that, Anders thought grimly. The Commander had a line somewhere too apparently.

“Take heart, good woman!” Justice insisted. “Justice will see you avenged and freed.” Anders was not entirely sure that such a thing was going to be possible. Freed was not what they thought it was, not any of them. They needed to move on. He shifted his weight, and Eideann scowled.

“I will help you,” she said.

“And if we get stuck here?” Anders insisted, wanting to know the answer before they made the decision properly. Eideann looked back to him over her shoulder, and there was something of the fire that flickered there in her. 

“I have been trapped in the Fade by demons before,” she explained. “And the only way out was the kill the demon. A blood mage that drew everyone here and can control the town? It sounds like a demon to me. But you are the resident Fade expert here, Anders. What do you think it would take to escape? A deal with a demon is a dangerous thing to undertake.” 

“I…I don’t know,” he finally admitted in annoyance. He had never run the risk of being trapped in the Fade before. This was new for him too. He had never been pulled in by a demon either. Apparently Eideann Cousland had.

He pursed his lips, almost positive she meant at the Circle Tower, and relented, deferring to her judgement. Appeased, the Commander turned back to the Spirit of Justice and the spirits gathered at the gate.

“We’ll help,” she confirmed. 

“Then we have the numbers to challenge the Baroness directly!” Justice declared, rallying the other spirits with its booming voice.

“They just said she was an evil, powerful witch,” Anders grumbled, a feeling of disbelief that the Commander was alright with such a direct plan. “Do we really want to antagonize her?!” Eideann shot him a smirk, drawing her swords. 

“Come on,” she said slyly, “it will be fun.” Anders stared at her, incredulous. She softened. “We can defeat her and force her to use her magic to help us. One way or another we will escape.” He sighed, clutching his staff, the cool wood smooth under his hand.

“Alright,” he finally grumbled, and Eideann grinned. 

“Then let’s get this done with.” She looked back to the gates. “Any idea how to bring them down?” 

“This place is a battle of wills,” Anders said. “What your mind wants and what the Baroness’s wants. If enough of us want those gates open, they will open.” And so they gathered the spirits together again.

“Good people!” Justice said, speaking to the crowd assembled. “We take the battle directly to the witch! For too long have her crimes gone unpunished! Now is the time to reclaim your freedom!” Ah Justice, always overly dramatic. Anders gritted his teeth, and focused on the gates.

_Bring them down,_ he thought. 

The gates did not move, for several moments.

“Focus!” Eideann called. “Those gates must be open!” And so Anders closed his eyes and tried. 

And this time the others apparently did as well. Together there was a pressure, like stretching fabric too thin and tight, and then suddenly a crash and the sound of metal wrenching open, just like if the gates were real. Justice ran forward, forcing the gates wide open, and stalked into the courtyard of the mansion.

The tower here still stood, of course, the paint a deep russet. The steps were not ruined but rather pristine, all of the Blackmarsh preserved as it once was.

And there, atop the balcony, watching them with cold, calculating eyes, was the Baroness.

She was small, with dark hair and a tiara of dragonbone that glistened damply in the Fade. Her gown was a deep crimson, and she laced her fingers together before her, standing at the bannister of her steps. At her side were several wraiths, twisting and dark and swirling forms that felt oppressive there in the Fade. And limping at the foot of the stairs was the First, the darkspawn that had scampered off while they did battle with its lackeys.

“My my,” she said, her accent heavy in Orlesian. “All that shouting outside and now you’ve finally decided to barge in without even a proper invitation.” Her tone was cold, despite the thick syrupy flavor of her words shaped with an Orlesian tongue. Anders grimaced. She felt wrong too, not human but something darker, deeper. 

“Be wary,” he murmured, and Eideann gave a barely perceptible nod she had heard. At least she was listening to his warnings, if nothing else. 

“Foul sorceress,” Justice hissed. “You will release these poor folk and submit yourself to justice!” The woman on the steps gave a loud, clear laugh, tossing her head back a moment towards the sky where the Black City stood everpresent above. 

“Justice?” she laughed. “Is that what you’re calling it?” She shook her head. “What of their punishment? Burning my home to the ground and me within it?” Her laughter was gone now, replaced by an icy darkness.

“Because you were stealing our children!” one of the villager spirits said angrily, “using their blood to feed your vanity!” 

“As was my due!” the Baroness spat back, her voice echoing across the courtyard stones. “You lived on _my_ land. I, your rightful ruler! Your blood was mine, just as your lives are now!” Eideann pursed her lips.

“These people were citizens of the country of Ferelden, and I am their rightful ruler now. I am Eideann Cousland-Theirin, Arlessa of Amaranthine and Queen of Ferelden! Their lives are not yours any longer! All Fereldans are free!” The names were old ones, Theirin and Cousland. Even if the villagers had not been free to see Maric’s rebellion come to fruition, they still knew the old names of old and noble lines. It was amazing to see the effect sometime.

“We’re free from Orlais?” one of them asked, and then he glared at the Baroness. “And we are free of you!” 

“So the Dog Lords finally worked their way from under our thumb,” the Baronness sneered.

“We are not longer alone, Baroness,” Justice said fiercely. “Your reign ends here!” 

“As it happens,” the Baroness said, crossing her arms loosely, “I am no longer alone either.” She glanced down with cold eyes to the First where it stood at the base of the steps. Anders took a wary step to the side. The moment things heated up, one of these things would come for him. He was the mage there, the prime target. He tighted his fingers on his staff again.

“My path back across the Veil,” the First said, “lies in victory over you and your new allies. Then the Mother will pay for her treachery!” 

“I figured you’d turn up again sooner or later,” Eideann said darkly, tilting her head a little. Maker, she must realize how cocky it made her appear to be so cavalier about it all. Perhaps the First really was a minor nuisance to her. He had to remind himself that she had looked an Archdemon in the eye before, a real, proper, Blighted demon, and killed it. Perhaps everything in retrospect _did_ seem a small thing in comparison.

“We must be ending this!” the First said, looking back to the Baroness. “Now! The Grey Warden, it is more dangerous than you know!” 

“Oh, as you wish, creature,” the woman replied, letting her arms drop and giving a perfunctorily dismissive wave in its direction. “Slay them and you shall have the reward you requested.” 

“Enough!” Justice cried, drawing its axe at last, a translucent thing that shone silver in the Fade’s greenish glow. “The battle is joined!” The Baroness waved at him, and the spirit disappeared. Anders felt the pull of the Veil shifting about them, and Justice reappeared atop the steps where Anders himself had stood with Sigrun to bring down the werewolves in the real world. 

And that left the First. It fixed its eyes on him. 

Sigrun was the one who met it, darting in for a quick few strikes and drawing first blood. The spirits of the villagers swarmed the wraiths that tumbled down the tower steps towards the courtyard. Eideann joined the fray at Sigrun’s side, and that let Anders put enough distance between himself and their enemies to survey the battle and find his point of best influence.

He found it with Justice, who was meeting the Baroness one on one, and he took aim, fortifying his mana with tricks he knew from too many days sitting in courses and lessons, things now as natural as breathing. And then he took aim.

The battle was fierce and bloody, for all it was in the Fade. Red blood splattered the ground where spirits fell, not because they could bleed but because they expected to. The wraiths were forced out of existence one by one, and the Baroness managed to repel Justice long enough to scream at the First.

“You fool! Why are you not defeating them!” 

“They are too much!” the First cried back! “It must be sending me back through the Veil! Now! Before it is too late!” A cold chill settled over the Baroness. Justice tried to rise, and she flung a spell in his direction, knocking him back with ease. A very powerful demon then. And then she stepped towards the First with anger flickering in her gaze. 

“Oh I will sunder the Veil, alright,” she spat, every word venom. “I’ll send them _all_ back!” Anders felt a chill of warning seconds too late. “But you…your life is going to provide the power!” There was a noise like something tearing wide, and the First screamed, if darkspawn could even scream. Blood erupted through every orifice, each pore, a cloud of death and power, and Anders felt its raw influence even as it turned his stomach. Not only blood but Blighted blood. 

_Maker preserve us._

And then there was a brilliant light, the force of something slamming through him, and pain that erupted so suddenly that he felt he must be dead.

It took him a few more moments to realize he was cold. And cold was not a feeling in the Fade. It was a real world feeling. His vision carefully faded into a swimming mass of drab muddy color, but it was real world color. He very, very carefully reached to check his head, but he was alright. And then, fighting dizziness, he sat up. 

Eideann was wincing into her hands, and Sigrun was actually busy failing to contain the nausea that wracked through them all, emptying her stomach into a scraggled marsh bush nearby. Anders carefully reached for his magic and found it, sighed, and then let it wash over all of them as best he could, careful not to overdo it. Returning from the Fade was always a bit disconcerting, but this in particular was less like waking up in a daze and more like a heavy impact. Maker’s blood, that was not something he hoped to experience ever again.

And then there was a soft glow, and he and Eideann both turned to stare as Kristoff’s body erupted in a band of light, flaring so brightly it hurt Ander’s eyes before it at last faded. And then the fingers in the Warden gauntlets twitched. Eideann stared.

“Anders…” he heard her say, like she might ask for an explanation. He simply watched as the corpse…moved. It twisted, slowly pushing itself up, and then rising to its feet, and when at last it turned back, there was a panic in its glassy, dead eyes. 

“Where am I?”

***

This was wrong! It was wrong! It was all of it wrong! He was not meant to be here! This was a real world! This…this body - !

_The soft smile of a woman with blonde hair, quiet eyes -_

This was not him! This was wrong! The balance was broken! He was trapped, he had to…had to… How could he leave!? How did he flee! No! 

_\- cut through the memories. Her hands were soft as she caught his own._

_“Kristoff…” A gentle sigh –_

“What is happening?!” he cried, and _felt_ as flesh moved to form the words in his throat. A vibration. A hum. 

He could taste…dirt? Dirt. He…no it was not _him_! It was – 

_\- near his ear, so many years ago. “You’ll come home soon, promise me.”_

“No!” he cried. The strange vibration at the body’s throat, the way its waxen, melting flesh twisted over…muscle? Bone? “This is the world of mortals beyond the Veil!” 

_The blade that pierced his arm was sharp and jagged. Pain lanced through his body, leaping from limb to limb, flaring like fire, blood pouring. Blood, hot blood, thick blood, a puddle -_

“No!” The body shuddered about him. He gripped either side of its head, where hair greasy and slick with decay stuck to battered gauntlets. “This…this is a mortal body of flesh! I am trapped within! No!” 

“The spirit of justice?” He knew that voice, or part of him did. The spirit part. The ears did not remember. His ears? No. The body’s ears… He whipped about to see the woman from the Fade, eyes dark and burning with passion or rage or…

_Soft laughter as they rolled in the grass. Tumbling end over end. Aura…_

_“I’m going to join the Grey Wardens,” –_

“How did you get here?” the woman before him demanded, crossing her arms. She looked every inch as imposing out here as she had done in the Fade. 

“The witch sundered the Veil, and in her haste, all of us were drawn through!” he snapped. Was she stupid!? She had said as much! The entire thing had….

This woman was not a mage. How could she know? He had not felt anything drawing him near her before, unlike the man at her shoulder who looked cold and judging and a little sad. And…

There. Lonely. Downtrodden. Cursed. Afraid. Worried. Hunted. Hounded. Injustice…

Justice fixed on that familiar sensation.

“She has returned to this realm as well. Can you not feel it?! The Baroness is nearby,” he said. If he had been pulled across…

_“A Grey Warden? Kristoff, are you sure?” Warm lamplight, lines of concern on a beautiful face._

_“Yes.”_

No! He pushed the intrusive thoughts away. They were not his! They were not - !

They were the corpse’s, the man. What justice was being done by denying those feelings, those memories? 

_Darkspawn blades that found his heart, the cold rush of black death. Aura._

“She isn’t dead like all the others?” the little creature travelling with the woman and the mage said. Strange. Justice felt nothing from her. A blank slate. A wall of emptiness. He shuddered. Or the body did. The corpse. 

He was trapped inside a corpse. 

_DEMON._

“You misunderstand,” he said, trying to pull his thoughts away. _YOU’RE A DEMON._ “The Baroness. She is not a mortal as you are, or as were the villagers she kept trapped.” _DEMON._ “There…was such a mortal once.” Everything a vibration, that sensation of…speaking. There was cold dampness running down his face. Water from the sky? It might wash away the corpses flesh. _YOU’RE POSSESSING A BODY LIKE A DEMON._ “But now, that is a demon of pride. She assumed that form long ago to feed from the mortals she trapped. Here…in your world…here she will be quite something else.” _A DEMON. LIKE YOU._

The woman was watching him with wary eyes. The little creature with them looked somber and concerned. The mage was judging him. Weighing him.

_WEIGH MY WORTH, MAGE. I AM A DEMON._ But then the mage shook his head. 

“We can’t just leave him like this – ” he began, but the woman cut in.

“We can deal with the Baroness ourselves,” she said sharply.

_SHE KNOWS YOU ARE A DEMON,_ he thought. And then he stopped.

_Darkspawn flooding a village, dead people everywhere, dying, friends fallen, lost, fire, chaos, put them out of their misery. No time for healing. We must go. We must - !”_

_I MUST GO._

“On this matter alone, mortal, I believe my experience outweighs your valor.” If he could reach the Baroness, her death might mean his return to the Fade. It was his only hope. “The Veil is sundered, and the tears must be closed lest they continue to spill demons out into this world.” _LIKE YOU._

_NO. FIND THE BALANCE, FOCUS ON REGAINING ORDER, MAKE THE BALANCE RIGHT. THE BALANCE. PUT IT BACK HOW IT WAS. FIX IT. BRING THIS PLACE…JUSTICE._

“I can’t close the tears,” the mage said suddenly. “I don’t have the power to do it alone, and they’re more unstable now than they were before.”

“I can alter your weapons for a time, allowing them to drive back the Fade’s magic,” Justice said. _STITCH UP THE HOLES, MEND IT WITH THREADS BROUGHT FROM THE FADE._ “But if we are to deal with the Baroness, we must move swiftly.” The woman did not look happy, but she did nod as she looked away.

“Fine,” she said flatly. “Do it. And we can get this over with.” _YOU CAN GO HOME, LEAVE THIS BODY, YOU WON’T BE A DEMON._ He reached for the power to draw the Fade through, and their blades glowed with an odd light. It never glowed in the Fade, it just…was. And here, swords turned sewing needles, glittering in the darkness. 

The marsh was full of traps of mud. 

_Like the stretch of swamp by the house when you were nine._

_THAT WAS THE BODY, NOT ME!_

They stumbled through, picking their way over fallen and rotting trees – 

_ROTTING LIKE THIS BODY._

– until they reached the first of the tears. He knew they were growing close, because he could feel it. He wanted to step through, but it would take the body with him. He could not do that. It was a corpse, already feeling the kiss of the mortal world. It needed to stay behind. He had to escape it somehow. Somehow. 

Killing the Baroness here should do the trick. 

As they approached, the Fade seemed to bleed into the world, warping it with green mists until it was less marsh and more imaginary molding. 

_SO CLOSE. DEMON._ The mage and the woman considered it a moment, and then set to work. The work was patchwork at best, a mere threaded job ill-done by inexperienced hands. But it closed the Fade away, and he felt the loss of it burn intensely in his mind. 

The next was much the same. And the one after. Round and round they went, and he began to recognize he could _feel_ the movements of the body he inhabited. And he could – 

_The rain was falling, soft and gentle, as she wrapped her arms about him._

_“Once my sister is safe, I shall see you again. I will come to meet you in Amaranthine after Satinalia. If you can wait until then? And make sure you pack lots of socks. They might get damp otherwise and – “_

Damp. The corpse was wearing socks. And they were damp. Squelching. Whether from the mud, the rain – that water falling from the sky – or the decomposition, he did not know. 

The gates of blackmarsh stood ajar. The final rift just shy of the warped metal edges. 

_WARPED AND CORRUPTED, AS YOU ARE, DEMON._ The sooner he was gone, the better.

They closed the final rift, and the Fade disappeared. Gone. He froze a moment, tried to reach for it, found it absent. And the glow of the weapons faded as the connection was lost. The woman and her mage companion exchanged looks. The short creature with them shook her head. 

“Let’s finish this and get out of this place,” it said in a frank tone. 

_YES, AND I CAN RETURN HOME TO MY OWN WORLD._

“She’ll be near her tower, where she came through,” the mage said quietly. “The only reason we appeared where we did was because our bodies were there. And…” His brown eyes fell on Justice. _AND THE DEMON._ “Well…” It said nothing else. 

He was proved right not too much later as they crossed the sunken and broken cobblestones towards the tower. Those gates hung open too, creaking on the breeze as they swayed. And in the center, looking just like it did in the Fade, was the Pride Demon, the Baroness, in the red gown and the tiara of delicately carved dragonbone. 

“So,” she said as they approached, “this is the world of mortals.” She turned to consider them, eyes cold and dark. “How very dull it seems. So immutable and unchanging.” She smiled. “Yet, I am here. I have crossed the Veil. The spirits will watch in envy as the mortals of this realm bow down before me.” 

_THIS CANNOT CONTINUE. THE DEMON IS RUINING THE BALANCE BETWEEN THE WORLDS. IT MUST BE ENDED._

“That will not happen, demon!” Justice said, and the Baroness’s eyes slid to him across the square. 

“Ah. It seems I was not the only one to be drawn here. How very tiresome.” She frowned. 

“Why don’t you explain that ‘bow down before me’ part again,” the woman said. She was a Queen, she said in the Fade. 

“Shall I use smaller words?” the Baroness hissed. “I had no idea I could enter the mortal world this way. Had I known – “ She smirked. “Ah, but I am here now, yes? Soon I will be Queen, as this world deserves. And you? You will be the first of my subjects.” The Queen of the mortal realm simply shook her head, haughty and fierce. 

“I think not,” she said.

And then the Baroness staggered back, eyes glowing an iridescent green like the Fade’s sky, and she erupted. Limbs and spines and purple mottled flesh rose into the rain, hulking and massive. 

“Pride demon!” the mage cried, and then the fight was on. 

_I WILL SEE THIS DONE. THEN I CAN LEAVE AND WILL NOT BE A DEMON. I AM NOT A DEMON!_

The horned beast laughed, stretching its arms wide, and then gave a roar that rippled through the sky. And then it came for them. 

The corpse had a shield and a sword. Justice reached for them, settling the shield on the body’s arm and taking up the sword in the body’s hand. At his side, the mortal Queen bristled for battle, swords glittering with shining letters set along the blades with some sort of magic. 

The ease at which he swung it was counteracted by the fact it was a heavy thing, dense, and immutable. He could not will it through the air, nor twist it as quickly as he wanted. He could not make it hit its mark. It depended on his own aim. 

_The hilt was cool in his hand, wrapped leather over Warden silverite, the griffon shining on the crosspiece. He ran an oil-cloth down the blade, checking the sheen, remembering all his lessons._

_Parry, thrust, parry, cut, jab, strike, parry, thrust… an endless dance he now performed only in the dark depths of the Deep Roads or in the forests where the darkspawn fled._

Parry, thrust. If he did not know, the body remembered, and corrected for him, which was odd but acceptable. Part of that man had stayed behind, not yet gone. Memories still etched in the body. 

And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. It was the little creature that did it, skirting the massive legs of the creature and bringing it down with twin slashes of a pair of finely crafted axes. The Baroness toppled, and Justice speared the demon through the head, until it died on his sword and flickered away into nothing, its essence filtering into part of the world.

And then nothing happened. 

And nothing after that either. 

_DEMON. YOU WILL NEVER RETURN. THE FADE HAS CAST YOU OUT. YOU WILL LIVE INSIDE THIS BODY FOREVER, WALKING IN FLESH THAT IS NOT YOURS._

“And so it is done,” he finally said, turning back to the mortal Queen, the little creature, and the mage. “For what it is worth, thank you. I have fulfilled my vow. May the victims of that woman’s madness rest in peace, wherever they have gone to now.” _WHILE YOU POSSESS THIS BODY, DEMON._

“You…don’t know?” the mortal Queen asked, seeming confused. 

_Aura bent over the Chantry altar, hands clasped, on her knees._

_“Blessed Andraste, send my father to the Maker’s side – “_

“No.” _THIS IS NOT MY MEMORY._ He sighed. “The spirits believe there is a place beyond the Fade, but we have no more answers to such things than you mortals.” He considered a moment, and she watched him with wary eyes. At last he turned away, shaking his head. “It…seems I cannot return to the Fade. I am…trapped here. In the body of this…Grey Warden.” He brought the body’s hands back to the face. “There are memories inside this poor man’s mind. They are…they are difficult to see…” He did not want another to begin, so he dropped the body’s hands and considered the small group of mortals standing before him. “But…he was slain by the darkspawn. The one called…the First?” The woman gave him neither confirmation or denial. But the First seemed to be the creature that had been working with the Baroness inside the Fade, whose blood had powered the magic to send them back. Instead, the mortal Queen gave him a dark look.

“You shouldn’t be inside that man. He deserves a funeral,” she said. Her tone was short. She was…angry. 

Justice. What was justice for this man? That he should die? Should justice die so that a dead body might be properly laid to rest?

“I did not mean to enter this body,” Justice said hurriedly. “I did not intend to follow you through the Veil.” The throat was vibrating as he spoke, words and sounds made with…motion. “Only the darker spirits, the ones you call demons, desire to come here.” _AND NOW YOU ARE ONE OF THEM? NO._ “My kind has no such desire. Yet, here I am.” The mortal queen did not look impressed, and neither did the mage. The little creature simply stood, arms crossed, looking between them. “It seems I am at a loss,” Justice added. “I know nothing of this world and have only a few memories of this…Grey Warden…to draw from. I do not wish to die.” _LIKE A DEMON._ He sighed. “What shall I do, mortal Queen?” he asked. “You seem to be a creature of good character, and you are of this world. Can you advise me?” 

She was watching him with dark eyes, weighing his words, and he saw the conflict within. She was concerned about the body, about the spirit, and…he did not know what else. 

“You know nothing of this world?” she finally asked. “Nothing at all?” He sighed.

“The demons seek out the dreamers, the mortals that come to the Fade,” he told her. She did not understand the difference. She thought them all dangerous, twisted - _YOU ARE IN A CORPSE, POSSESSING A BODY. YOU ARE A DEMON HERE._ “They draw sustenance from their memories.”

_The rain plinked on his armor as he strode through the woodlands, further south, further east. This time…this time he would find them -_

Justice pushed the thought away as best he could. It was hard. 

“My kind has no such compulsion. We feel…sorry for you mortals, trapped as you are in this dismal place.” Something of compassion flickered through the mortal Queen. The mage behind her shifted a little, uncomfortable. “But now I am trapped as well. Alas, I have no purpose here, no goal.” A spirit without a purpose…

“Commander, this spirit is as deserving of our help as any mortal is,” the mage said quietly. “The body he inhabits belonged to a Grey Warden, and right now, the circumstances being what they are, we need his help. He needs a purpose or he will vanish from the world. Give him a purpose.” The mortal Queen glanced to the mage a moment, considering. Then sighed.

“So be it, spirit,” she told Justice, giving him a quiet nod. “You shall come with us until we can find a way to help you and this man.” 

“Continue this mortal’s mission?” Justice asked. “As a Grey Warden? It was a darkspawn who murdered this mortal most ignobly. And the ones that commanded it yet live.” He sighed, and the body swayed a little as he sheathed the Grey Warden sword and put up the shield at his back with limbs that knew how despite his mind faltering. “To avenge his death – yes. That would be a purpose.” He looked up. “Very well, I will join you Grey Warden, if you will allow it.” 

“Then its done,” the little creature said. “Kristoff, or Justice, or whatever it is…can come with us.” A little frown sat on small lips. “We should hurry, Commander. We’re running out of time.” 

***

The crackling of the fire in the massive hearth in the Great Hall drove back the cold of the Highever winter. The sleet had made the stones outside slick, and howling winds from the Waking Sea were buffeting the castle walls on the sea side, whistling through gaps in stone and making the towers seem haunted. 

The nobles that had come north with him were gathered about the Great Hall, where great tables stood the length of it, pouring over meals that Fergus and Alfstanna had had prepared to keep them fed. In the corner a soft lutesong strummed over the noise of the storm outside. 

Teagan stood to one side of the chamber, engaged in conversation with Alfstanna Eremon, who was looking warmer than the rest of them, clad as she was in a thick fur-lined cloak and gown. Alistair and Fergus sat on the dais at a small table near the fireplace, leaning over cards with a pile of coins in the center. Fergus was far more liberal with his money than Alistair, who had never had any money to spend before. Fergus found his reticence amusing.

“You know, Eideann used to beat me all the time,” he was saying with a smile. “She would pretend she did not know how to play, and end up with all the money.”

“She beat a cheating pirate in a Denerim brothel,” Alistair said before realizing what it was he had said. He looked up with alarm to find Fergus grinning.

“Why in the Maker’s name did she take you to a brothel?” Ah, so he presumed it was that way.

“Her assassin friend thought it a good place to hide at the time. Loghain’s men were swarming the capital.” He considered his cards, then carefully laid one down and was about to pick up another when the doors slammed open, the noise of it echoing across the chamber. A cold wind swept up the hall, causing the candles to splutter and go out, and the great fire to roar with the sudden cold air. 

“Your Lordship! Your Majesty!” A man in a shortcloak lined with bear fur swept up between the tables, ignoring nobles who rose to intercept him. He was wearing simple scout’s gear, and on the left breast the emblem of the griffon in black and silver. 

Alistair rose from his seat. Soldier’s Peak.

One of Levi Dryden’s men.

“Who - ?” Fergus began, but Alistair stepped down to meet him, and the man dug out a pair of scrolls tucked within his belt, battered by the sleet and the rain and the snows and the wind. He held them out, and Alistair took them.

“Queen Eideann, your Majesty. These are urgent.” Alistair stripped them off the ribbons holding them closed and unfurled them hurriedly, passing one back to Fergus who took it with a quiet solemnity.

_Alistair,_

_The situation under Amaranthine is worse than we thought._ He skimmed the rest, his heart pounding, then looked up.

“How long?” he demanded. The messenger looked tired. “How long ago did she send this?!” 

“I rode here from the Peak directly, Your Majesty,” the man said breathlessly. “A good few days, five, or six. The roads were difficult to travel.” Alistair was about to say something, then thought better of it, motioning for the man to take a seat at the edge of the nearest table and have what food was still available. The messenger nodded, grateful, giving a deep soldier’s bow and then setting upon what was left like he had not eaten in days. Alistair met Teagan’s eyes from across the hall, then turned to Fergus.

“Teyrn Cousland, I need use of your army.” Fergus gave a nod.

“It is yours, King Alistair. And my own sword as well.” He looked to the nobles in the hall, all the Cousland fire burning in his eyes like it did in Eideann’s. “Friends, the King and Queen of Ferelden summon us to war! Bring all the men you have. We ride at dawn.” There was a mad scramble then to get prepared, and Fergus reached to catch one of his guards. “Rouse the barracks. We will leave a skeleton force here to watch the town. We ride for Amaranthine as soon as possible.” 

Alistair watched all this with hard eyes, and then Fergus looked back to him.

“How bad are we talking?” he asked simply.

“A foreign invasion, and a civil war,” Alistair replied. “And if we do not get there soon, Eideann won’t make it.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word of a darkspawn force reaches the Vigil and Nathaniel must seize control of the situation; Eideann and her team return to find the Vigil preparing for war; Sigrun runs into an old face and finds out what Oghren is worth; Keenan and Aura confront Justice in Kristoff's body; Anders tries to find a way to help Justice, and ends up learning some interesting things on his own; Nathaniel and Anders are reunited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: violence, some gore (descriptive)
> 
> Comments always welcome :)

The Vigil portcullis stood open, the walls that the Glavornak brothers had built strong and sturdy stone. Nathaniel shifted in his seat in his saddle as they reached the main gates. How his home had changed. 

It had been falling apart all those years before, he knew. Ancient architecture had long since begun to give way to nature’s tangled existence: the wind had cracked the towers, the rain had split the stone in the winter freeze, the wooden towers were rotted away or sinking into the earth. Now the Vigil stood proud and defensible again, rebuild with Cousland funds of all things that Eideann had promised from Highever. Despite all that had happened, Amaranthine remained a vassal of the Teyrns of the north, and Eideann had made use of that fact to make the Vigil strong. 

They had come down the North Road from Soldier’s Peak. It was odd to think how close it was, how easy it could be to reach it if need be. A journey of a few days, five or so, and they would be in contact. Nathaniel was glad of that closeness. He had a feeling they would need it in the days to come. He knew that Eideann had sent for King Alistair and Fergus Cousland. The armies that waged war under Amaranthine would poison the entire land. 

On the third day, they had heard news of an army on the Faravel Plains. Already, farmhands were fleeing north to the City of Amaranthine on the coast or south to Vigil’s Keep for protection as darkspawn blanketed the lands with their destruction. There were too few of them to face an army. They had quickened their pace to reach the Vigil in time. Nathaniel caught himself hoping Eideann had beaten them there, but quickly learned they had no such luck.

It was Seneschal Varel who greeted them at the gates, solemn and reserved. A groomsman took their horses, and the Seneschal immediately pulled both he and Keenan aside.

“Word is of an army ravaging the north,” he said, confirming what they had heard on the road. “Villagers are pouring in. I had hoped the Queen might be with you.” 

“She has gone to the Blackmarsh to find Warden Kristoff. If he lives, then his information may prove invaluable,” Keenan said, Lucan at his side as they took the steps to the fortified barbican, Velanna and Oghren in tow. 

“We may be dead before she returns then,” the Seneschal said darkly. “Something must be done, whether she is here or no. I have tried to summon the lords of Amaranthine, but my word is nothing without her backing.” Nathaniel narrowed his gaze.

“They will not come?” he insisted, disbelieving. Amaranthine politics had always been prickly, but never entirely broken. With Bann Esmerelle dead, the opposition should be ended. Seneschal Varel merely shook his head.

“No. They are digging in their heels,” he replied. Nathaniel shook his head.

“I will send for them then. Tell them Nathaniel Howe calls for them on behalf of Queen Eideann Cousland-Theirin. And get word to my sister.” Seneschal Varel gave a small nod, and then glanced back to the bustling courtyard where refugees were beginning to take up the space. 

“If this becomes a siege, we will need access to more food stores,” he said quietly. “Mistress Woolsey is making what arrangements she can. In the meantime, I can only hope the Queen reaches us. We cannot hold against an entire army.” 

“She has sent for reinforcements. If they received word, we shall not need to hold long,” Keenan said quietly. He looked to Nathaniel then. “You shall handle the nobility then. I shall begin preparations to deal with the Architect and this Mother. They will strike us soon now they know we will not sit back and wait. I want to be ready for them.” Nathaniel gave him a nod, then motioned to Varel, and the pair of them climbed the steps. Keenan turned back to speak with Velanna and Oghren a moment. Nathaniel did not have time to see what they said. 

It felt odd preparing for war in his own childhood home. Even with the defense towers erected, the walls replaced with fine dwarven architectural reinforcements, and the metal portcullis at both the inner and outer gates, he was not sure they could stand against an entire army. Sergeant Maverlies and Captain Garavel met them at the top of the barbican steps.

“The Deep Roads entrance is secure?” he checked first, and Sergeant Maverlies gave a nod. “Have we been able to outfit our soldiers?” Cpatain Garavel recognized he was in charge there now and gave a soldier’s bow. 

“Master Wade has made use of the silverite ore that was brought back from the Wending Wood. Our best knights are outfitted accordingly,” he reported. Nathaniel gave a nod then, sighing a little in relief. At least that was something. Silverite proved particularly effective against the darkspawn. “When might we expect the Commander back?” 

“Soon,” Nathaniel said. “For the time being, myself or Warden-Lieutenant Keenan are in charge of the situation. Report to one of us. Eideann will be back as soon as her business in the Blackmarsh is done.” He had heard the stories. He hoped that that business was done, and quickly. And he hoped she had luck returning with Kristoff, though he was positive she would not. The man had been missing for months now. With the darkspawn thinking and hunting Wardens, it was a slim to none chance she would find him at all.

He sighed as they reached the main hall, considering those lords that had gathered, and then he looked to Seneschal Varel. Of all the things he had once thought he may need to do…

“My Lord, I need paper, and the Arling’s official seal. I shall meet you in the study in a few moments, and we shall see to it that Amaranthine is prepared.”

***

There were people at Vigil’s Keep. Two days riding – they had been slowed by the lack of a horse for Justice – had made her weary, but not weary enough to miss the sight of hundreds of refugees crowded into her keep. It made her think for a moment of Soldier’s Peak back during the Blight, and she did not like the comparison.

They saw her approach from the battlements, because she noticed people coming out to meet her as soon as the horns alerted them to her presence. Ferelden horns were tinny and deep, short blasts. She had last heard them properly during the Battle of Denerim, and before that at Ostagar. They never boded well.

It was Seneschal Varel and Warden-Lieutenant Keenan who met her at the barbican. She left Zev, the horse, with the groomsman and took the steps two at a time to catch up to them.

“What in the Maker’s name is going on?” she insisted, ignoring Anders, Sigrun, and Justice for the time being. 

“War, commander. A darkspawn army has been spotted on the Plains. Lord Howe has managed to rally the nobility to the Keep, and we have been taking in refugees for days. We are glad to see you safe,” her Seneschal said. She caught his hand. 

“A moment,” she said. “And I shall come upstairs. Assemble the nobles, assuming they are not already waiting.” And then she turned to Keenan, beckoning for him. “Now tell me what is really going on,” she said.

“We think they are the Mother’s forces. They are harrying towns and villages, setting fire to crops and burning homesteads as they go. It has the feeling of a retaliation, presumably for clearing Kal’Hirol. The Architect’s forces appear to have vanished. We’re in up to our necks now, Commander.” Eideann sighed, giving a curt nod.

“Then we hold and hope that Alistair and Fergus can bring us reinforcements. Seneschal Dryden will get the word out. We just have to last that long.” She peered across the courtyard.

“You really think they will make it in time?” Her eyes slid to him, fierce and cold.

“No,” she replied. “But I have no immediate plans to die on a darkspawn sword today, Warden-Lieutenant.”

There was something going on in the courtyard. She looked back to it, trying to work out what it was, and that was when she saw her. It was a young woman, dark blonde hair braided neatly into an Orlesian style, a gown of blue silk wrapped about her. And she was staring at Justice.

“Maker…” Eideann breathed, realizing who it was. Keenan followed her gaze, and gave a low hiss.

“Aura,” he murmured beside her.

“We have to stop this.” Keenan glanced to her.

“That…that’s Kristoff.”

“No,” Eideann said, hurrying down the steps. “No it is not.”

“Kristoff!” she heard, and the woman in blue began to run. Eideann ran too. “Oh thank the Maker!” She would not reach them in time. Aura threw her arms about her husband’s body and Justice recoiled, just as Eideann and then Keenan reached their side. Anders tried to get in the way too. Too late. Aura drew back, eyes turning to horror. “What…what has happened to you?!” she cried, backing away. Eideann put up an arm, and Aura stared her. Anders pulled Justice away. 

“What in the Maker’s name is going on?” Keenan said, staring between Kristoff’s rotting body and Eideann. 

“You were Kristoff’s wife?” Eideann said, cutting in, ignoring Keenan. Aura’s anger lashed out.

“I _am_ his wife!” she insisted. Justice shook his head.

“Your husband is gone,” Eideann heard him say. “I inhabit this body now. His death will be avenged, I assure you.” Eideann wanted to groan. She turned and shot Anders a glare, but the mage just shook his head. He could not draw Justice away. Aura gave a sharp gasp. 

“Avenged?!” she demanded. “What are you?! You’ve dessicrated his body! How dare you?!” She drew away as Justice tried to reach for her. Eideann turned abruptly and shoved him back.

“Justice, stop!” she said, so forcefully it hurt. Maker, her heart was breaking for this woman.

“It was not intentional,” Justice protested. “There was – “

“Get away from me!” Aura cried, tearing away and then running. Eideann glanced back, then sighed, hanging her head a moment. One more thing she did not have time for. 

“I…I’ll go speak to her,” Keenan said, giving Justice a wary berth. He had known Kristoff as well after all. Eideann let him go, giving him the way out, and then glared at Justice.

“This…body has memories of that woman,” Justice said weakly. If he was not in a rotting corpse already, Eideann would have said he looked pale. “Aura is her name. I did not know she would come.” He looked to Eideann through Kristoff’s dead eyes. “I must…rectify this somehow. Intentionally or not, I have done this woman a great disservice.” Anders put out a hand to stop him from following, his looks severe, narrow brows lowered as he shook his head.

“No,” Eideann told the spirit gruffly. “You will leave her alone. Let the woman grieve.” Justice gave her a pained look.

“I cannot.” So Eideann darkened. “It will prey on me if I do not seek her out. There must be something that can be done to assuage her pain!” 

“So you will prey on her instead? No. You will leave her alone. Anders, do not let him go near that woman, do you hear me?” She glanced then to Sigrun. “I need to you find Velanna and Oghren. I have to meet with the nobility, and I will want everyone ready for orders afterwards.” Sigrun gave a nod, then shot Justice a hesitant look before slipping away. Eideann gave Anders a final glance, and the mage nodded grimly.

“I won’t let him out of my sight, Commander,” he promised, and so Eideann let them go then, turning back to the Keep. This was the pressing thing now. 

A darkspawn army. She climbed the steps grimly. 

_One day, I will stop repeating the worst moments of my life,_ she thought, and let herself into the hall.

***

Sigrun navigated the crowds with a certain grace she had learned long ago running with the Carta in Dusttown. If she wanted to, she could have cut the purses of half those she passed. But that was a different life, and old life. She thought of the ring on its chain about her neck and grimaced. It was all she had left of Varlan now, taken from his body in the Deep Roads when he died, a sign of the promise she had made. 

He had thought her a worthwhile person. She meant to prove him right. She had sworn on his memory that she would do so. 

She grimaced and kept her hands to herself, and cut none of the purses, and did not allow herself to be distracted by shiny things like bracelets or rings or pendants as she made her way through the crowd. 

She knew little enough of Velanna, since the elven woman was the first elf she had ever met. But she assumed that Oghren would be exactly where most dwarven warriors would be, drowning his sorrows in ale somewhere, or hitting something.

Asking for Oghren and the inn in the same sentence earned her the knowledge he was barred from going there. And that meant he really could only be one place. She sought out the training yard, working on instinct rather than knowledge. She had presumed the Warden Keep would be rather less crowded. She thought there were only a few of them after all. But Commander Eideann was a Queen apparently, and the darkspawn were massing, and that meant people preparing for war, or running from it. The fortress seemed defensible. Some of the architecture even looked dwarven.

She found Oghren arse deep in a keg of ale, leaning on his battleaxe, sweaty from fighting a training dummy until it lay in splinters at his feet. She took one look at him and shook her head.

Warrior caste. So far up their own arses in misery they never took a moment to consider everyone else. She called to him, and he turned, giving her a lecherous grin she debuffed.

“Come with me,” she insisted, crossing her arms.

“Anytime,” he grinned, giving a dirty chuckle that she recognized from too many days living on the streets of Dusttown. She made a face. 

“Commander wants to see us. Have you seen Velanna?” He shook his head, so she sighed. “Fine, help me look.” 

Velanna proved more elusive to find. She had developed a reputation for hiding, and the crowded nature of the Keep apparently made it worse. She did not like people or company.

“She-elf is sodding sulking over being exiled,” Oghren explained in his usual eloquence. “I hear you came back with a corpse.” 

“A spirit or something. From the human Fade.” Oghren shuddered, falling into step with her as he put up his battleaxe. 

“Kinky,” he muttered, but it was not meant properly.

“Oghren, why are you banned from the tavern, aside from the fact you would probably drink them out of business?” Oghren gave her an angry look, the veiled anger of berserkers. She had seen it a few times on Legionnaires. And then the man sniffed, looking away, disgusted, but it was at himself not at her.

“Why are you in the Legion?” he shot back. “Because it helps us earn back a bit of honor.” And then he left it at that. She considered him with narrowed eyes, confused. She had not thought him capable of anything other than superfluous harassment, drunkenness, and ill-thought-out plans. She wet her lips.

“I – ”

“You!” She turned abruptly to see a woman staring at her with anger. And she knew that woman. She looked different under the surface sun with light in her coppery hair, and there were lines at the corner of her eyes now, but there was no mistaking it. “You ungrateful backstabbing Duster!” Mischa.

It was like something out of a nightmare. Here, of all places, in front of people who believed she could do anything. She was wearing Warden armor, had battled the darkspawn, was trying to keep her word. Here was the reminder of that worth, and how little it truly meant. And Oghren, beside her, was there to see.

“Hey yerself,” he spat back, and Sigrun blinked, brow creasing, as she realized he was taking her side. Maybe he was just itching for a fight? He seemed drunk enough. But no…Oghren was a warrior, and he had fought alongside the Legion in the Deep Roads many times. He knew her as a Legionnaire. The brand on her face that marked her as casteless were things of the past for him. He had seen her fight the darkspawn and that was all that mattered underneath it all. She shook her head.

“It…it’s in the past,” Sigrun protested, looking away and putting up an arm to stop him. He glared in her direction – she felt the vitriol at her back – but did nothing. 

“Name’s Mischa,” the other woman spat, glaring at Oghren. “I was Merchant class until _she_ ruined me.” Oghren gave a snort, looking her up and down. “I had her running errands, trying to keep one Duster out of trouble. I thought I was doing a good deed!” Oghren glanced to Sigrun. Sigrun wilted under the look, her heart filling with dread. When he knew, what would he think? When he found out…

“Then,” Mischa spat, her small eyes fixing on Sigrun again, “I hear House Bemot has lost a gold statuette of their Paragon!”

“I remember that,” Oghren grinned.

“The next day it turns up in _my_ shop!” Oghren shook his head, grinning ear to ear like it did not matter. But it did matter. It mattered to _her_. Sigrun grimaced, shaking her head, looking at Mischa.

“I…I tried to say no,” she insisted. “Beraht said he’d kill you if I refused.” 

It had been after evening rounds had been made, when Dusttown grew darker as the fires banked and people went to sleep in the dim glow of the lava pools instead of burning oil, when Beraht’s men had come for her. She had been trying to stay clean, trying to find a way out. Word on the street was that Leske and Brosca were down, and the guards were in arms trying to find any Duster to pin shit on. Beraht had lost a lot of money on fixing Proving matches, and Jarvia was stalking Dusttown for those too pathetic to say no. 

Mischa had been her salvation, a spot of brightness, a chance. And when Beraht saw a Duster doing well for himself, he had to bring that Duster down. She had owed Mischa everything. She could not see her dead for that chance. 

_Above all, you must survive._ A chance on the surface was still a chance.

Mischa did not see it that way.

“He need to get rid of it,” Sigrun tried again. 

“House Bemot could have had me executed!” Mischa snapped back.

“Sod it. House Bemot couldn’t find their danglers if you sat them down with their head between their legs,” Oghren replied. Mischa gave him a dark look, then swung back on Sigrun.

“You could have spoken up! Told them the truth!” Yes, she could have. But she had not.

“And then Beraht would have killed _me_ ,” she said in desperation. 

“She didn’t get off with a sodding warning,” Oghren added, giving her a pointed look. Sigrun sighed.

“I’m in the Legion of the Dead now. I’m going to die in the Deep Roads, Mischa.” A death sentence all the same, and damn whatever Oghren thought. It was the truth. Now he knew. A Duster set to die for making the best of the worst choices. But she was going to keep her word now. She was better than that.

It had been Varlan to teach her patience, to help her accept that darkness inside her at the thought of having already given her life away. Those evenings spent in camp, learning to read, when he would speak of noble things like honor and duty, and what it meant to keep your word…those were things she had finally understood after his death. There were worse things than death, and an honorable death keeping your word was better than most could claim. 

She drew a heavy breath, reaching to dig the Warden pendant from within her armor, and pulling it over her neck. She untangled the ring from its spot on the chain, and then stared at it a moment. It was wrapped with writing she could barely read, though Varlan had told her once it was House Vollney’s words and at the center its crest. She drew another shaking breath. 

If this could make it right…

She looked up to Mischa. 

“I…know that nothing I say will make things better,” she said with effort. “So I…want to give you this.” She held the ring forth, willing her hand not to shake. “It…it’ll fetch a fair price, even on the surface,” she added, her voice thick with anguish. It felt like she was trading away Varlan himself. “To…to help you rebuild your life.” Mischa stared at her a moment, and then she reached for the ring. Sigrun felt empty as it left her fingers. Mischa studied it a moment.

“This…looks like the crest of House Vollney,” she said, then looked up with alarm. “Stole this off a noble, did you?” Sigrun stared, unable to speak. She had technically taken it from Varlan after his death. But it…it was different. And….

It felt like she should just fall into the depths of the Deep Roads and die in the darkness. 

It was Oghren who saved her.

“Keep the ring,” he muttered. “Here.” He dug through his pockets until he came up with a fistful of gold, which he shoved at Mischa instead. “Take yer money, and get lost.” Mischa glared at him, then tossed the ring to him instead, and Oghren caught it. He glanced at it a moment before carefully setting it back into Sigrun’s hand and folding her fingers about it. “You dropped this,” he told her in a gruff voice, and then stalked off. Sigrun, still shaking, looked down at Varlan’s ring in her hand and then realized her mouth hung open. She looked up, closing it quickly, and then hurried to catch up with the berserker as he stomped his way through the crowds with none of her grace and all the strength one might expect from a man used to pushing things out of his way. 

“You…you just…”

“It must be important to you,” Oghren muttered. “You were shaking like a sodding nugget when you let it go.” He glared at her sidelong, and there was an old hurt in his eyes. “They sing a song up here you know, about the Commander. I am the one who can recount what we’ve lost. I am the one who’ll live on.” He smirked. “A world that wants to break you should not be allowed to win, Duster.” And then he nodded up to the battlements. “There’s yer she-elf.” 

“Oghren,” Sigrun said as he began to climb the steps. He looked back a moment, and he seemed tired, like the world had battered him down too many times. For all he stank, for all he was a horrible person, for all he reminded her of the awful men that crowded DustTown looking for an easy run…

He still had some honor. And he was willing to give that to other people too.

“Thank you,” she told him, and meant it. He just shrugged. “In DustTown, my word meant nothing to anyone,” she added, climbing the steps too, though she stayed below him. “Then I joined the Legion, and took a vow to protect Orzammar. That’s worth something. For once, _I’m_ worth something. And I must honor that, even if it means I’ll die!” He gave her a small little smile, the smile of old warriors before their final fight, and nodded.

“When from the blood of battle the Stone is fed,” he said with amusement.

“Let the heroes prevail,” she finished, “and the blighters lie dead.” A line from Varlan’s book. He gave a small nod.

“Come on, Duster. Before the Commander thinks we stopped for a tumble in the meantime.” 

***

There was a private chapel that had been refurbished alongside the inn and was serviced by a lay sister who had come from Amaranthine itself to assist. That had been Mistress Woolsey’s idea, the capitalize on the pilgrims who took the Pilgrim’s Path. It was there that Aura had fled.

The chamber was small, stone and built into the new walls of Amaranthine. It was a single story, with a small platform on which rested a statue of Andraste holding aloft a burning sword. Light streamed in through stained glass windows set on either side of the door. The money from the pilgrim’s had gone a long way towards putting the Vigil back together and upgrading its capabilities in the past few months, and this was part of the result.

Aura knelt before the statue, hands clasped in prayer, and sobs shook her shoulders. She paused only a moment when the door opened, glancing back over her shoulder slightly, but seeing it was him, she simply turned back.

Keenan waited, giving Lucan a soft command to sit and stay by the door. And then he carefully crossed to kneel beside her.

“Keenan,” Aura finally said as he peered up at the statue of Andraste beside her. He saw the tears in her eyes, the frightened look on her face, when he at last looked down, and he swallowed. She broke down and leaned into his shoulder, sobbing, and he bowed his head a little, taking her weight. 

Maker, were Wardens never given peace in love? He thought bitterly of Nida and closed his eyes to drive away the shooting pain that pierced at his heart. His fingers caught Aura’s and for a moment they stood in silence, save her sobs. 

It had taken him some time to find her, when all was said and done, and he did not have much time to devote to this endeavor with the darkspawn riding on them.

“He...he fell doing his duty,” he said softly, giving her a moment to allow that to sink in. “He went to Blackmarsh hunting darkspawn bands, trying to get to the bottom of what is happening here in Amaranthine. He gave his life to keep people safe.” 

“That…that _beast_ is living inside his body!” Aura cried. “I cannot lay my husband to rest with honors or without while that monster walks in his skin! Speaks with his voice!” Keenan shook his head.

“Keenan’s soul is at peace,” he said, looking first to her, then to the statue of Andraste. “He has gone to the Maker’s side. And that creature…” He trailed off. What had gone through Eideann’s mind when she had seen Kristoff’s body walk in death? What was she planning? What had she thought? 

What would happen now? 

It could not stay. He would not let it. Wardens were a sacrifice, and to allow _this_ …to allow this was to mock that sacrifice. He pushed away the anger. He had never been one to deal with anger. 

“I will not let that creature live inside Kristoff’s body,” Keenan promised firmly. “For the moment, we must face the darkspawn, and he would agree. But when it is done…” Aura nodded, bowing her head and sobbing again, bringing her hands up to cover her face. He wrapped an arm about her, wishing he could do more. Aura had always been a gentle girl. The times they had crossed paths before, she had always been kind and sweet. She had brought Nida flowers once shortly after they had arrived, welcoming her to Jader and their new home. 

There was the sound of the door opening again, and Lucan gave a low growl. The both of them looked back, and Aura rose angrily to her feet.

“You,” she said, all hate and venom. Keenan glared at Anders who looked tired and fed up.

“I tried. I could not stop him. I’m a healer. I don’t bind spirits,” Anders said hurriedly, trying to make his excuses. But it was not his fault, and Keenan knew that. The spirit was strong, and Kristoff had been a tall man in life, imposing and hard to stop from doing anything. 

“I am a spirit of justice,” the spirit said, speaking now to Aura. Keenan took a defensive step forward, and Anders gritted his teeth. Aura crossed her arms, stepping back until Keenan was a little in front of her, a barrier, a defense. This was wrong. “I mant your husband no harm,” the spirit continued. “I would ease your distress, had I the power. I am trapped, though no will of my own.” Keenan stared, listening, and Anders confirmed it with a nod.

“We were pulled into the Fade in Blackmarsh. This spirit was there, helping the lost souls that lingered. When we were brought back, it was forced back with us. Justice did not intend to take over this body.” Aura was shaking, but something in her softened.

“I knew,” she said, turning away and walking through the patterns of stained light from the windows, “when he left that this could happen. He told me.” Her soft Orlesian accent floated into the stonework near the ceiling. She looked back, fixing her soft green gaze on her husband’s dead eyes, and there were tears in them. “His father died a Grey Warden too.” 

The spirit of Justice was listening, watching, rotting flesh twisted into a mask of despair. “Tell me,” it said. “Is there _anything_ I can do for you? Tell me and I will do it?” 

“He is a spirit of Justice,” Anders explained softly. “In taking your husband’s body, he has done you an injustice. He cannot let it rest. It is his nature.” Keenan looked between them, then glanced back to Aura, who bowed her head, clasping her hands before her. She took a moment, and then looked up, with anger in her eyes.

“Avenge him then, Spirit,” she said at last. “I will wait for his ashes a little longer if it means that those that did this to him will pay.” And then she turned away, waving a hand to keep them all back, and fled from Andraste’s holy grace back into the courtyard in her grief. Keenan sighed, shaking his head.

“You should have left it be.”

“I cannot,” Justice said again. And so Keenan just sighed, his heart sick. He had known that man who walked about in death now. It was hard to look on him and not feel anger at what had been done. He pushed the thoughts away. 

“She loved this man a great deal,” the spirit said, and it felt intrusive and wrong. “And he loved her. I envy what they had.” Keenan shook his head.

“No. This was wrong. And if you are to live in this world, spirit, you must learn that much. What you have done is hurt someone so that you may feel better. You’re…you’re…like a child. You’re not better than a demon.” He pushed past them, giving Anders a final stare, and then stalked off, beckoning to Lucan as he let himself back out into the courtyard. 

Only a little longer, and then real justice could be done. But once the pattern was set in motion, justice was eternal. He made his way towards the keep with a restless heart that ached in loss and pain, and hoped that it would not be too long before it could be laid to rest.

He found himself missing Soldier’s Peak, so far removed from the cares of the world, with the Drydens and its massive library, and the dark secrets in its tower that he could not begin to unravel. And he found himself missing Nida, who had long ago drifted away.

The world kept turning, round and round, and in the end, there was nothing in it but to weigh your life by the things that you had done. Doing the right thing…he would find peace for Kristoff, and banish this spirit of justice back to its own world somehow. And when it was done, then they might finally find peace.

***

Anders let his eyes slide from the door to Justice standing in the light of the stained glass windows. The spirit clenched Kristoff’s fists. 

“I am not a demon.” Anders sighed.

“Aren’t…demons simply spirits with unique and sparkling personalities?” he asked wearily. He was a spirit mage. He knew that there were spirits that could do good, and spirits that could do evil. But the pure idea, untempered by any reason or logic or other values could be dangerous no matter the form. It had been a long few days. The spirit turned to him, eyes dark and dead.

“They have been perverted by their desires,” it told him in a grim voice and strode towards the door. Anders followed, since he had to keep an eye on him anyway. It was just his luck, stuck to shadowing a corpse to make sure it did not upset or kill anyone. Brilliant.

“Are you saying,” he said, suddenly realizing the implications of that statement – perverted?, “that you could become a demon, Justice?”

“I said no such thing!” the spirit snapped. 

“But you said that demons were spirits perverted by their desires!” Anders insisted. There was a common ground. There had to be. And he needed to know.

“I have no such desires!”

“You _must_ have some desires…”

“I have none!” Kristoff’s eyes seemed to glow a bright blue a moment and Anders fell silent, staring. The spirit stared back, pausing its walk, and for a moment they just stood on either side of the rift between their worlds, staring across at one another with wary looks. And then Anders eased slightly.

“I…apologize, Justice. I didn’t mean to suggest you would become a demon,” he said slowly. Maker, all he wanted was to go upstairs, find his wonderful kitten, and curl up with Nathaniel in a secret place with a book and some ridiculously strong wine. He hoped Nathaniel was doing alright, but as he had yet to see him and all this nonsense was going on…he presumed it hardly mattered if he was fine or not. He would be involved regardless. “I…just wondered what relation there is between spirits and demons,” he explained, cautiously stepping towards the Vigil again. “Demons are a worry to any mage.”

Justice considered him a moment before turning to walk with him.

“I do not know what makes demons as they are. Such evil angers me, but I do not understand it.” Anders looked away, pondering, and then nodded.

“Well, I hope you never come to understand,” he said softly. And the spirit nodded.

“I as well, mage. More than you could possibly know,” it told him quietly. Anders tried to imagine what it might be like, to worry that you might become something darker and corrupted, yourself twisted from your purpose. He shuddered. And then he thought it was perhaps not so unlike the threat of being a mage. 

They climbed the steps into the keep, past the preparations being made. There were barrels of arrows and swords, crates holding potions, medicinal supplies, and lyrium for healers. Anders pilfered a few as he passed by, since he had long since run out and had already determined as a Grey Warden, he would need the help more than any of those that were not directly on the front line. The spirit watched him do it, eyes wary, until he unstoppered the last lyrium potion and drank a small sip to regain his strength. He wanted to look over Velanna and Nathaniel if he could, but he had spent a lot of his magic up over the last few days just trying to get through Blackmarsh. 

At the unstoppering of the bottle, the spirit went rigid, and then it leaned in so close that Anders had to step back, staring. 

“What are you - ?” he said as the smell of decaying flesh cut through his nostrils.

“What is that sound?” Justice insisted. Anders stared, then stepped back again and again the spirit followed. “Such beautiful singing! The liquid within this bottle,” he looked up with dead eyes, “is it lyrium?” Anders paused, glancing to the bottle. What sort of danger could lyrium be to a spirit, given how harmful it was to mages? He did not like the thought. He carefully stoppered the bottle again, the blue liquid glistening inside, and the spirit eased a little, leaning back. So much for having no desires.

“It sings for you?” he asked. Sometimes mages claimed lyrium had a hum, of course, or a song, and the dwarves claimed they could follow it. But…not a true song. He narrowed his eyes.

“When mortals dream of lyrium in the Fade,” Justice said, eyeing up the bottle, “it is not like this.” Anders blinked. His experienced with lyrium in the Fade were that it had the rejuvenating properties it did on earth. But if it only had those properties because he _expected_ it to, then for spirits the lyrium he dreamed into existence there was nothing but a pale imitation. And it apparently did not sing. “The song…saddens me,” Justice added, bowing Kristoff’s head a little. “But it _is_ breathtaking.” Anders carefully slipped the lyrium bottle into his tunic and the spirit relaxed with the sight of it gone. “Of all the things I have seen in this world, this is the most precious.” Anders cleared his throat.

“We had better go,” he said, and turned back to the keep doors, though he kept his eyes on Justice. “No doubt people are waiting for us.” 

“Not for me,” Justice replied. “I am a spirit within a corpse. They will not want to see me. But I thank you, mage, for staying by my side and for vouching for me in the Blackmarsh when I first came to your world.” Anders just sighed. There was a cough at the door, and Anders glanced up to see Nathaniel there, dressed in his Warden tunic, watching them. 

“I…came to get you. Everyone else is waiting. Eideann sent for you.” Justice nodded and started up the steps, but Anders just considered Nathaniel for a moment before reaching with magic to check he was alright. And he was. A few aches and pains but nothing he could really ease. Nathaniel let him, despite the fact he had not asked for permission to use his magic, and when it was over he reached down with one hand to Anders who carefully climbed up to catch it in his own. 

“I…I was worried about you,” he said softly to the nobleman, who simply gave a quiet smile and a nod. And then Nathaniels’ Coastland gaze slipped to Justice.

“So…you are a spirit then? Eideann mentioned that she had not had luck in bringing back Kristoff.” Justice looked between Anders and Nathaniel a moment, then gave a stiff nod.

“I am Justice.” Nathaniel nodded, then looked to Anders.

“And…lyrium sings, does it?” he asked warily.

“Apparently,” Anders said. He had not realized Nathaniel had overheard so much. Nathaniel gave him a wary look, then grimaced to Justice before raising his chin a little in the way nobles did when they were weighing decisions.

“I don’t know anything about you, spirit, but I will say this,” he finally replied. “You can’t stay in that body.” 

“And where would you have me go, mortal?” Justice insisted. “I did not even wish to possess this one. Why would I switch to another.” Nathaniel sighed.

“You might need to,” he said. He still had not released Ander’s hand. “Unless you wish to look even more obviously like a corpse.” Justice opened Kristoff’s mouth to reliate, but Anders gave a quiet noise and a shake of head, and the spirit sighed.

“Would such a thing even be permitted? Would it not be considered…abominable?” Nathaniel met his gaze coolly, and Justice looked a little ill, if it was possible for a dead body to even look ill. “I can still feel the man who once lived. I know his life, his…it is not just a body.” Nathaniel’s eyes softened a little and he drew Anders up another step towards him, still considering the spirit.

“That’s…good, isn’t it?” he finally said quietly. “I’d rather you felt that way.” Justice considered them, then nodded.

“Well then…perhaps you are right.” Nathaniel sighed.

“What if you found a living body to possess?” Justice recoiled at the thought, stepping towards the door. 

“Even if I knew how, I would not possess the living! Such is an act for demons!”

_He is very sensitive on that topic,_ Anders mused. Nathaniel shook his head.

“I meant a willing person,” he replied quietly. That just confused the spirit more.

“Why would a mortal ever allow such a thing?” Anders bowed his head a little. He knew the answer for that. He was a mage. He knew how many mages thought a spirit could help them when times were bad.

“For life,” he said. “For love. Perhaps together, you can do what they cannot do alone.” Nathaniel gave him a quiet look, then sighed.

“If you gave instead of taking,” he added warily, “I would consider you no demon.” Justice looked between them, and then…then he just sighed and nodded.

“It is…something to consider. Thank you,” he said in Kristoff’s voice and then turned to the door to let himself in. Anders climbed the last few steps to follow, but Nathaniel caught him and held him back, letting it shut behind the spirit and leaving them alone in the stairwell.

“I…I wanted to see you,” he said softly. “Before…” Anders gave a small smile, and then leaned in, until their mouths met on the steps. 

“Are we really in so much danger?” he teased. “That I’m allowed near-public displays of affection?” Nathaniel broke away, giving him an annoyed look, and then sighing, raking a hand through his hair.

“Things are bad here, Anders,” he said. “And…Ser-Pounce-A-Lot has missed you, by the way. He won’t stop crying. He’s made a nest on my bed.” Anders grinned, then took the final steps and put his hand on the door. “Wait,” Nathaniel said, and he looked back. “I…Before we go in there…I…”

“I thought you were dead,” Anders said quickly. “I thought that golem had killed you. Maker, maybe it did. And…I can’t…I…”

“Anders, when this is over…stay with me?” Anders blinked, and all the air left his lungs in a single moment.

“I…”

“Just…think on it?” Nathaniel said quietly. Anders sighed, looking away, a little in shock. Stay? When all the world waited and Eideann had given him permission to leave. He settled on the only truth he knew.

“Ask me again if we both survive this,” he murmured, squeezing Nathaniel’s hand. “First things first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigrun's original conversation obviously happens with the Warden-Commander there, not Oghren, but I felt that in this case Oghren made a better fit. Sigrun and Eideann already have a good rapport and respect on another, and that won't change. But Oghren and Sigrun get very little interaction in game that is not awful, and this seemed to click with Oghren's story as much as it did Sigrun's.
> 
> Likewise Anders and Justice get to spend some time together, and given the pacing now that was important. Eideann is very wary and distrustful of Justice, and brought him along because Anders vouched for him here. Instead of a lyrium ring (which sounded dangerous, was an obscure thing you could collect, and was probably poisonous to everything that went near it) we have regular lyrium potions. Its diluted, but it probably still sings a bit. And this is Justice's first exposure to it. This entire thing operates on the assumption that the lyrium we see in the Fade is not natural to the Fade (reasonable) and is instead brought there by dreamers (also reasonable). This may prove important in later arcs. For the moment it just is what it is. 
> 
> Oghren is banned from the tavern because Felsi is still there. Done. That just makes sense Keenan would impose that on him, and everyone would help. That poor woman needs some peace, and Oghren does not need to be in a tavern to drink himself to death. His little speech that he says doesn't come from a book, but I thought it would be nice if it was something that both he and Sigrun knew that tied them back to the endless battle against the darkspawn. They're both trying to regain that honor (Sigrun does not really think she ever had any before) and so that's an important connection I wanted to make between them I think the game fails at a little. They have different ways of doing this, but its still there.
> 
> Since Keenan is alive and worked with Kristoff before, I had to alter those scenes a little to incorporate him as well. So...there is that. 
> 
> And we're off to the finale! :D Enjoy!


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann rides for war; the situation in the City of Amaranthine needs an immediate decision; Eideann makes a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: violence, gore
> 
> Comments always welcome.

Eideann forced herself not to pace. The fire roared in the center of the hall, and the nobility which had responded to Nathaniel’s summons were milling about the Great Hall in various states of panic. She could not look weak now. She needed to appear decisive, protect them. She was their Arlessa, their Queen, and the Commander of the Grey. She could not be nervous here or now.

But she was. Even with her swords at her back, Duncan’s dagger tucked into her belt, and her bow across her shoulders with a quiver of arrows, she felt unprepared. She was facing down a massive army, among which were more of the Awakened darkspawn that could think and strategize. This was no darkspawn horde to be overcome with tricks and sheer bravado. She was outmanned, and the entire Arling was under siege. Scouts and fleeing refugees reported entire villages swallowed by the horde that now threatened to destroy Amaranthine. Worse, the land there was some of the only tillable soil left, and with the winter in full swing, Ferelden would starve without it. 

She had no access to armies. She had only a handful of Wardens. She had what soldiers she had conscripted and those Alistair had left. And she had whatever men the nobility could bring with her. 

And she was facing both the Architect and the Mother’s forces. 

Atop the dais by her chair, her Wardens gathered. Among them, standing far enough back that he could not be properly noticed, was Justice, and she pushed that matter away, since it was not the most pressing. Anders and Nathaniel had finally appeared, and Oghren was sitting on the edge of the steps, carefully running a whetstone down the edges of his battleaxe with a grim and dark look.

The doors opened and Eideann looked up in time to catch Captain Garavel and a few of his scouts enter. He made his way through the crowd of nobles directly to her where she stood beside Seneschal Varel, and dropped a bow.

“My Queen,” he said, all formality, and that was when she knew it was truly serious. “The darkspawn have indeed fielded armies – ”

“That was not in doubt,” Eideann cut him off. “We are at war, gentlemen. I need to know how many and where they are.” Garavel nodded and Seneschal Varel grimaced, his silverite armor shining.

“They have been spotted near Drake’s Fall,” he told her. “The plains east of the old Dragonbone Wastes, but they are headed rapidly south, Commander.” Eideann felt the familiar presence of Keenan and Nathaniel coming to join the conversation, and she considered the nobles.

“How many are in their path?” she asked quietly, for their ears alone.

“Between here and there, all of the farmholds in Amarathine save those to the farthest north. Lord Eddelbrek will take the most losses,” Varel said softly. Eideann swallowed, crossing her arms. 

The nobility were growing restless, and Lord Eddelbrek took the opportunity then to cross to join them, his voice carrying across the hall. 

“Your Majesty,” he said, giving her the title because he was begging her for aid. She remembered the man from when she was younger and it pained her to look down on him now, but she did, her eyes narrow, and he gave a courtly bow.

“Speak, my Lord. Your Council is always accepted here.” 

“Is it?” That was the elderly dowager she had dealt with at Bann Esmerelle’s party after her poisoning. Eideann’s eyes flickered to her as well and she sighed before considering all the nobles.

“We are at war,” she called. “The darkspawn are ravaging the lands in the north on their way to meet us here. There are significant preparations to be made, for which I need order and calm. You are Ferelden nobility. The people gathered in this room are here because they serve Ferelden, and serve it we shall. Together. United. We must stand or we will all fall.” She nodded to Lord Eddelbrek. “Tell me what you know,” she asked.

“I fear for the villagers on the Plains,” he told her. “There is a darkspawn army – army! – in the field, and with the soldiers returning here to the Vigil…” He was desperately afraid those left behind would be dead. But her troops would be too if she kept them out. She was glad they had pulled back and brought as many with them as they could. It had filled the Vigil with those seeking refuge, but there was a reason she had insisted on rebuilding those walls. 

“The enemy,” she said coolly, “is out of hiding. We will find them and strike before they reach us instead.” Lord Eddelbrek grimaced.

“This is no - !” he began, like he planned to chastise her for rash actions. But she was a Warden. She was not being rash. She knew the darkspawn were marching now, their destination the Vigil where all their prey were fleeing, and it was her duty to meet them. She remembered Wynne’s tale of the Grey Wardens standing before the King’s armies and the forces of the Blight, and once again she would be the person that faced down that darkness. She grimaced.

But Lord Eddelbrek was interrupted as the doors flew open again. This time it was a familiar face that came darting towards them. Nesiara, eyes wide, blonde locks flying behind her as she dashed through the nobility, forced her way through the crowd. 

“My Lady,” she said breathlessly, panting hard. She had run up the stairs apparently. Eideann immediately gave her all her attention. Nesiara looked scared stiff. “My Lady, a darkspawn army is in sight of the City,” she gasped. “A rider…he…he died at the gate…” Eideann’s heart went cold.

She had told Captain Aiden that Amaranthine’s defenses were lacking. His men were not equipped to hold off a darkspawn horde. She had made a fatal error in deciding that the Mother would come for her there. Instead, she had gone for the defenseless in the city. Maker, she had been a fool. She felt Keenan and Nathaniel both stiffen at her side, and she drew a breath. 

The nobility were muttering, and one was in open panic. Eideann silenced them all in an instant.

“ENOUGH!” she roared, and the quiet was like a heavy weight that settled immediately over them all. Only Nesiara panting for breath and the crackling of the fire could be heard. 

Eideann looked to the nobility a moment. And then she looked to her Wardens.

And they were watching her, with wary eyes, tired eyes, like they had known. They knew then what she would have to do. 

_People follow because you earn their loyalty. And the duty of those who lead is to serve. Forever. Even at the cost of their own lives._ She had said those words to Loghain, in the Landsmeet so many months ago. 

_A Cousland always does her duty first._

“Maker protect us,” Lord Eddelbrek exclaimed, catching the look in her eye. Eideann’s gaze flickered to her Captain and her Seneschal, who both looked grim. Captain Garavel shook his head.

“Amaranthine has been undermanned for weeks,” he told her quietly. “She may not last long.” Eideann’s jaw clenched and she drew another breath. 

“Our forces cannot move quickly enough,” Varel added. 

“I know,” Eideann said. “But a small band might make it in time.” Lord Eddelbrek shook his head.

“That’s…suicide,” he said, watching her. Eideann glanced to him a moment, and Captain Garavel grimaced.

“We must do something,” he insisted, angry at himself that the darkspawn had got the better of them again. Eideann simply grimaced.

“I will go myself,” she finally said, clearly and loudly so everyone there might here. Sigrun stepped up beside her, and her eyes were shining with a quiet resolve.

“Fighting a horde of darkspawn with almost certain death awaiting?” she said simply. “Don’t even think of leaving me here. I’m already dead. I have nothing to lose.” Seneschal Varel considered Eideann then, and she saw respect there, and that meant more than he would ever know.

“If anyone can hold back the darkspawn tide,” he said carefully, “it’s you, Your Majesty. It has…been an honor.” Eideann accepted his quiet bow of head, then looked to her Wardens.

“Orders then,” she said simply, and her eyes went to Keenan. “Warden-Lieutenant, your team stays at the Vigil. The spirit will stay as well,” she said frankly. Keenan grimaced, giving a nod beside her. His look was somber and quiet, but he immediately looked like he filled the part of command. “It’s likely they’ll hit here next, and if we can’t stop them at the City, you will need to be prepared to move against the Mother as soon as you get the chance.” Her eyes slipped to her other side. “Nathaniel, Sigrun, with me. Anders…there may be a lot of wounded in the City.” The mage gave a solemn nod, and Anders’s jaw twitched. 

“And here I thought I’d retire to the country with a plump wife and several nubile mistresses,” the mage lamented sarcastically. “I suppose it’ll have to wait.”

“What? You won’t be taking me along?!” Oghren said irritably. Eideann gave him a simple look.

“Defend my gates, my friend,” she said softly. “I am counting on you.” And that was enough. 

“I’ll…make sure the Vigil’s ale supply is safe,” Oghren nodded. “Leave a few darkspawn skulls for me to kick in, alright?” 

“If I ever had doubts of you, mortal, they are erased,” she heard Justice say in Kristoff’s voice. “Fight nobly, and if you die, die with honor.” Eideann gave him a quiet stare, and then she looked to Velanna, who simply swallowed, hard, her eyes dark and fierce, and shot with angry tears. It took Eideann aback a moment to see it, considering where they had first begun, but then the woman nodded.

“May the wind be ever at your back, Commander,” she said softly. “Mythal protect you.” Keenan just gave her a nod.

“Commander, we will do what must be done,” was all he told her, and she knew it was true. 

“Hold the Vigil for reinforcements,” she told him softly. “A few more days is all you need, Lieutenant. I put Amaranthine in your hands.” He threw her a smart soldier’s salute, fist over his heart.

Eideann looked then to the Seneschal and Captain Garavel. “Captain, bring with you a small company of men. We ride for Amaranthine. Varel.” She reached to clasp his arm, and he caught it, holding it tight a moment at the wrists of their gauntlets. “Be safe, my friend.” 

And then she turned abruptly, and her Wardens followed, the Captain at their side. Nathaniel fell in step beside her, and as they walked he gave her a sidelong glance.

“Initially I thought you were utterly mad to invite me to join your order,” he told her simply. “Now I know it to be true, Cousland. But…” there was a shadow in his voice. “Redemption? A man could die for that, and feel good about it.” 

“I agree,” she said softly. This was her redemption too, and also her duty. They did not need words to understand that. “Together, my friend. We will show that Coastland blood will not die in a wimper,” she said fiercely. He met her gaze, all that history that lay between them, and nodded. 

“And we will save the city,” he said. “Delilah is still there.” 

***

A cold sliver of a moon glowed a stark and bitter white in the sky of velvet darkness. Silver clouds drifted in patches that veiled clusters of stars, laden with the heavy weight of threatening snows. There was no doubting their destination, though it was well past dark now. Amaranthine had been under siege for over a day, the time it took to get to the Vigil and back. It lit the night with fire like an open wound spilling blood into the blackness of the night. The underbellies of the clouds were black and red with smoke and flame. Shrieking pierced the air. The city screamed.

They met the first darkspawn several leagues out, and rode them down on horseback with blade and with bow. The beasts died in the fields, toxic blood spilling across the beaten trail of the Pilgrim’s Path and tainting the earth that had once felt the touch of holy Andraste’s steps. 

Eideann led her men onward, Sigrun clinging to Nathaniel’s waist atop his Amaranthine Charger, Ander’s clutching his bladed staff as hooves hammered onward and tore along the trail. At their back were a number of the Silver Knights, the forces from Amaranthine clad in silverite armor crafted by Master Wade. They were led by Captain Garavel, who was clenching his teeth so hard she was sure he’d knock a few out before he was done grimacing. 

Duty and King’s Justice dripped red blood as she thundered towards the open city gates.

They hit the real line at the bottom of the hill, and Eideann swung through them, hacking a hurlock in half before she slung herself down from the saddle and turned to the next group. 

There were Children on the hill. Nathaniel’s arrows brought two down, but not in time to save the guardsman they were tearing limb from limb. Anders made use of the clouds, calling down thunder to crackle across the hill and strike down the force that was barely being held back at the gates. 

Eideann and her Knights battled their way up the path, the other Wardens at her back, and Captain Garavel at her side. 

There was a barricade erected at the gates of merchant stalls and torn fence posts and anything they could find to block the way, but the men that defended it looked exhausted, and only a handful did not lay dead or dying. 

At their head was Captain Aiden, who had at least been able to rally the will to die valiantly in the defense of his city, even if he did not have the skills or experience to defend it in its daily operations. He stood, panting, roaring at the darkspawn with desperately fearful eyes before the last of his men, a mere handful.

Eideann charged. 

Her swords bit through darkspawn armor and flesh. The Blightsong echoed in her head from those forces that were not Awakened. The Children were the most dangerous, the forms with spindly legs and claws that evolved when they feasted on their dead brethren. Sigrun was at her side though, dismembering the creatures with the hooked blades of her dwarven axes and throwing her Legionnaire weight into every single thrust. 

The blood was hot and acidic on her face. Eideann ignored it and carried on. She had felt that rage before. For all the situation looked bleak from this angle, that the held at the gate meant the darkspawn had yet to break into the city proper. 

That was the problem. 

There should be more. 

She finally hacked through the skull of one of the Children as it lunged for Captain Aiden, kicking it from her blade with a disgusted glare, and then swinging about to behead a hurlock before it might reach her. And then her Knights filed through to the barricade, Anders with them, and Eideann watched him only an instant before he set about trying to tend the wounded. 

Eideann put one of the soldiers, who was bleeding out nearby with veins of silver taint creeping through his neck and face, out of his misery, and then glared at Captain Aiden. He gave her a weary and heartsick look.

“Your Majesty. I am glad you arrived when you did, but I fear there is little than can be done now,” he said, bronze-tinted armor glittering a little in the moonlight. She considered him, then let her eyes slide up to the burning city ahead, and she closed them a moment before gripping her sword, turning, and running through a dying darkspawn on the road. Captain Aiden was watching her hesitantly as she turned back.

“Tell me how this happened, Captain,” she said. Her voice held the cold issue of command. 

“A couple of nights ago a swarm of gruesome creatures emerged from beneath the city,” he told her, sinking back against a battered wagon wheel as she circled back towards him. A couple nights? Then the word had gotten out late. The rider was dead, slain by darkspawn arrows. Captain Aiden’s defense had not stopped the spread within the city then. They had been backed into a corner against their own barricade. “They spread pestilence and destroyed everything they touched,” he told her. “And then at dawn, the other darkspawn attacked.” Dawn that day. A day under siege, but corrupted for days prior. This had begun while she was still riding from Blackmarsh. Eideann felt sick. There were only eight of the city guard left standing at the barricade now. And those within… She looked up towards the city again, trying to work out a plan. The Captain seemed to see it in her eyes, because he shook his head in misery. “Your Majesty, it’s too late,” he told her quietly. “Amaranthine is lost.” 

_No. I do not lose cities._

She wheeled on him.

“People are still alive in that city,” she said fiercely through gritted teeth. “Listen. Can you hear it? The screams? Get up, Captain. Or there will be no one left to save.” 

“The buildings might remain,” he told her, “but there are few survivors so long after those creatures appeared. Their corruption is so virulent at least a quarter of the city succumbed within the first day.” 

Eideann opened her mouth to reply, when she heard a hiss of warning from one of her Silver Knights. She looked up, and saw him pointing, and glanced back over her shoulder to the corpse-splattered road. 

A single darkspawn was limping its way towards them, clad in dented armor and a purple cowl, a twisting crescent moon on its face that seemed to mirror the one in the sky.

And Eideann could not sense it. 

“Archers!” Captain Aiden called as Captain Garavel drew his sword. Nathaniel responded, as did two of the guardsmen who had not yet fallen. All three drew Ferelden bows taut and took aim. Eideann held up her hand with a dark look, then took a step down the hill towards the creature, swinging Duty into a better position. 

“Peace,” it hissed in the gravelly tone of ill-learned common tongue. “Do not be killing. Only talk.” Eideann narrowed her gaze and brought up Duty, holding it out at the creature’s neck and peering down the blade to meet its blood red eyes. “Architect has a message for Grey Warden,” the creature said, putting up its hands.

“Spit it out before I kill you, creature,” Eideann said fiercely. The darkspawn stared at her a moment, like it was surprised she was so angry with a city of innocents burning in the background and it the creature of the Architect. And then it shuffled its feet, armor clinking on the cobbles.

“The Mother’s army,” it told her. “It marches to Vigil’s Keep! She attacks now! The Architect he sends me to warn you.” Eideann narrowed her gaze. There had not been nearly enough darkspawn here for this to be the main force. She had thought they were headed for the Vigil originally, but the news that Amaranthine had been hit was something that demanded her attention. She had hoped perhaps the army would be marching entirely on Amaranthine, and that the force against the Vigil would be smaller. A miscalculation. The Mother, it appeared, was more strategic than Eideann had been willing to concede. Her eyes fixed on the darkspawn, and she adjusted her sword angle a little towards its chest instead of its neck. “You must save the Keep! Then finish the Mother in her lair.” 

The forces had been spotted near Drake’s Fall…

Eideann pursed her lips. If she went now, the darkspawn here would flood Amaranthine. She had not left the Vigil without its defenses, and they knew that there were reinforcements on their way to help – or at least she hoped that Levi Dryden had gotten her messages through and that Fergus and Alistair had received them and were marching as she considered all the options. 

But in the end, there were no options. Even if she could reach the Vigil, a party of four Wardens, only one of which could sense darkspawn, and eleven of her Silver Knights if she included Captain Garavel, could not hope to break the line of an army from the outside. They would never reach the Vigil in time. 

But Amaranthine was the largest port, and if it fell, Denerim would also fall. The Pilgrim’s Path was the most prosperous trade route in eastern Ferelden, and the lifesblood of the nation flowed through it now in the aftermath of the Blight. 

There were innocents in there, as well. And Wardens could not turn their back and leave innocents to die just to save their own. She had ordered the death of men, women, and children before to end the Blight, but she could not be so self-serving. 

“This is truth!” the darkspawn insisted. “If you do not go now, all is lost! The Mother wins! If I lie, then kill me!” Eideann gave a sneer, shaking her head.

“I am no friend to the Architect,” she said in a low hiss. “He is my enemy as much as the Mother.”

“If we leave now,” Garavel said quietly, “we may be able to get back to the Vigil in time to save it.” Eideann narrowed her gaze, and she did not look back.

“And what about the darkspawn here?” Captain Aiden asked, his voice shaking. 

“Soon,” the darkspawn replied, “they will go to Vigil’s Keep as well. The Mother she wants the Keep destroyed utterly. 

“The…darkspawn has a point,” Garavel said in a low grumble. “We cannot leave with this other army hot on our heels.” Eideann listened, but she did not take her eyes from the darkspawn, and the creature stared back, weighing her reaction with its tainted eyes. “The Captain says the city is lost. I say we destroy it, burn it, and all the darkspawn within.” Eideann raised her chin ever so slightly.

“Captain Garavel,” she said in a cool, clear voice, “if you ever suggest I raze a city to the ground again, I shall have your head on a pike. Is that clear?” She glared at the darkspawn. “I am _not_ giving up on Amaranthine.”

“Warden-Commander,” Garavel insisted. “We have already lost Amaranthine. We can’t lose the Vigil as well!” 

“The Vigil is one of the strongest fortresses in Ferelden. We have worked hard to make it that way. It will not fall to a darkspawn horde without a fight,” Eideann said quietly. “But without defense, Amaranthine will. Listen to the screams, Captain, and tell me there are not still people alive in there. I am not going to leave them to the darkspawn.” Her eyes narrowed on the creature before them. 

“If we destroy this city,” Anders said angrily, rising from where he had been bent over one of the injured soldiers, his hands painted red with blood, “we’re no better than the darkspawn! The Commander is right. We _have_ to try!” He had never sounded more…certain about anything. Eideann knew he had not been at the Battle of Denerim. War was not something Anders was accustomed to. It had made him harder, more desperate, and more determined to help people. 

“I don’t want to see fire ravage these streets,” Nathaniel said sternly. “But it may be our only chance.” Eideann ground her teeth a moment.

“Tell me, Howe,” she said in a curt, angry voice. “Is it a family habit of yours to let northern cities burn while their people die in rivers of blood?”

“Don’t make this personal, Cousland,” he shot back. “My sister is in that city.” 

“Then help me save her!” Eideann retorted.

“This is not the same!” he replied, voice rising. “The darkspawn are already within the city! How can four Wardens and a handful of wounded soldiers win it back?!” 

“The same way two Wardens and a handful of exhausted mages brought down an archdemon over Denerim!” she cried. “By trying! If you would rather let Amaranthine die so you can go fleeing back to the Vigil to tuck your tail between your legs and wait for the Teyrn and the King to save you, be my guest. Get out of my sight! But the Queen of Ferelden does not burn her cities to the ground because darkspawn happen to be inside! We reached Denerim _days_ too late and still we saved those within! I will do the same again here if need be! _Alone_ if I must!” She grimaced. “The lives of the survivors in Amaranthine are no less worthy than those in the Vigil. And the Vigil has its own Warden defense. We stay here.” She heard nothing a moment, and then finally a sigh.

“I follow your lead, my Queen,” he said, a little stiffly, and Eideann nodded. 

The darkspawn in front of her shook its head in panic.

“No! No!” it hissed. “If you stay, the Mother will get what she wants!” Eideann still had very little idea what the Mother or the Architect really wanted. And she did not honestly care overly much in those moments.

“Let her try,” she spat, and then whirled about, taking off the creature’s head. And then she turned towards the city, stalking through the ranks. 

“Amaranthine then,” Captain Garavel said with a quiet reluctance. Eideann did not even spare him a glance as he turned to join her.

“Captain Garavel, you’re with me. Captain Aiden, get to the Chantry. We will send any survivors there. Hold the stairs at the cost of your lives.” 

“The darkspawn are never this organized on their own,” Captain Garavel added as her Wardens joined her. He ordered for half of his men to accompany Captain Aiden’s weary band. “Something must be leading them.” Eideann narrowed her eyes.

“An Awakened Alpha,” she told him simply. “The Mother’s Generals. That is our target. With them gone, we can find survivors and secure the city against further onslaught.”

Her mind strayed a moment to the Vigil, to all the lives within, and she prayed her people could hold it. 

_Alistair, love, please don’t take too long._

***

The Lane of Wares was on fire, a blazing inferno and the sharp echoes of screams cut short by darkspawn attackers. The Children were everywhere, dark patches in the bright light, scuttling across the cobbles on spindly legs and darting between buildings.

Fighting in Amaranthine, he decided, was like fighting in the Deep Roads, but with more fire and more at stake. The Deep Roads were empty, and had been for many years. Amaranthine had just days ago been a center of commerce and trade. 

He thought a moment of his sister, and prayed to the Maker she was alive. And he felt sick to think that maybe she was not. 

He caught Anders watching with quiet and solemn eyes, concern clear in the warm brown. There was no sparkle of laughter in them now, just the deep dark depths of anguish at what they were seeing there. 

Nathaniel nocked another arrow and drew the string taut again. 

He could hardly even put into words how hard it was to follow Eideann Cousland into those streets. She was letting the Vigil fall to save a handful of people in Amaranthine, and he was torn between duty and anguish. He could not leave these people to die here in the city, but what cost to those in the Vigil if they did not make it in time. 

Eideann had sent a rider, in hopes they might outrun the horde, one of the Silver Knights as they called themselves. It was the young man, Alec, who she had conscripted into the King’s Army after he had been caught stealing grain to feed his family. Nathaniel hoped the boy made it. If he didn’t…there would be no warning. 

The Vigil had fallen so quickly before, the attackers rising from the earth without warning. He had only survived because he was locked in his cell. 

Perhaps it would be different, with the Deep Roads doors shut. Or perhaps the door would burst, or the darkspawn would get through. Perhaps the metal portcullis would not hold when the time came. Perhaps the darkspawn could bring down the very walls themselves, as he had heard they had done at Denerim.

Who was left to defend it? The other Silver Knights, whatever men the nobility had brought, refugees they may yet conscript and throw up on the walls with bows to try and shoot the army down? And four Wardens: an elf that was willing to murder humans in vengeance could not be trusted to protect them now; a spirit in a possessed corpse that was hardly a Warden at all except by circumstance; a man with crippled legs who was the Warden-Lieutenant because at two years experience, he had more knowledge then any of the rest of them; and a drunken dwarf. 

No. A powerful elven apostate who had sworn herself to the new vengeance of killing the darkspawn. A spirit of Justice who stood what was right because it could not do otherwise; a Warden who had survived the massacre at the Vigil the last time the darkspawn attacked and was taking over the operations of Soldier’s Peak because he had proven himself worthy of the right; and Oghren, Hero of the Fifth Blight.

_That fool as you call him came to the surface, gave up his entire life and caste below to fight by my side in the Blight when other dwarves hesitated. And when I asked him to hold the gates of Denerim against an entire darkspawn horde, he did. And he did not fail. I owe him my life, as do thousands of others,_ Eideann had said in the Wending Wood, months ago, though it felt like years. If anyone could hold a Keep, if anyone could make sure the keep stood tall…

He took aim and brought down another of the Children as it darted into the street. 

He had his own business. He had to save those he could. Here. Now. And that was all that mattered. 

The guardsmen had blocked half the paths with burning barricades to prevent the darkspawn from breaking through their lines before. Some of them they climbed or destroyed. Others they avoided, Eideann judging them worthwhile defenses as they moved along. 

There were many bodies strewn across the ancient streets, but there were also survivors that emerged as they fought their way through the darkspawn.

He had expected the Void itself, perhaps, or at last a blazing inferno of blood and death. But there were lives still blinking in the cracks in the darkness, people who had lasted long enough. 

Anders treated those who could not move. House by house, shop by shop, they cleared the way. 

Some tried to fight with them, but Eideann turned them away.

“Get to the Chantry,” was all she would tell them. “You are no use to me dead.” 

But what she really meant was _get to the chantry. I will never forgive myself if I lose you as well._

Nathaniel heard the tension in her as she climbed the terraces and wove through the streets. Every darkspawn she brought down with those matching blades of hers was another debt paid. When he had spoken of redemption, he had not understood that she had been seeking her own. But of course she had. This was not the first time Eideann Cousland had chosen between two difficult decisions. She lived with those consequences each and every day. 

And he admired that.

He wanted to be like that. He wanted her to understand that a Howe could be a dutiful Coastlander just as much as a Cousland. He wanted her to understand that they were not their mothers or fathers, but their own people, the nobility of Ferelden, and proud. He wanted her to know that when she turned to face down death, she would never again do so alone. 

He was not there because he believed Amaranthine could be saved, though to be fair she was increasingly proving him wrong the more people they pulled from the woodwork. Instead, he was there because Eideann Cousland believed Amaranthine could be saved. And when Eideann Cousland believed something was true, he was willing to believe it as well.

She may be fallable, a flawed mortal like everyone else, but she did what she thought was right. Always. And she paid the cost for her decisions in blood if need be.

The Grey Queen, walking the knife’s edge between darkness and light. 

_Join us in the shadows…_

There were still guardsmen in the city, those who had splintered from Captain Aiden’s group or been separated in the melee. They joined them when they saw them, looking relieved and desperate and exhausted. But still they were alive.

_Even in darkness we find light._

It broke his heart to see Amaranthine charred and blackened and bloodied. But it made it swell to bursting when they found those who yet lived.

Amaranthine was too large, and yet still they pressed on, clearing it street by street. The docks were peppered with scuttled ships, dead sailors who had not sailed away in time to escape the onslaught, and empty vessels that had been cast adrift. There were those dying of the taint, which Eideann ended quickly. 

It was a mercy, she said, and he believed her. If what Oghren had said of Broodmothers was true, he would rather the citizens of Amaranthine were dead then Blighted into monsters to feed the darkspawn hordes. 

Even Anders, with some reticence, put them out of their misery. Even Anders, with his healers hands, chose to end that suffering. 

So many died that day. Too many. And so many had died before they arrived.

But so many still had been saved.

They found Delilah and her husband at their estate with a contingent of guards, Delilah tending to the entirety of the orphanage, and half of the Alienage too in her own living room. When they learned of the Chantry, Delilah convinced them all to go, determined to make it easier to defend the citizens that still lived. 

They did not find Nida, alive or dead, and Nathaniel rather presumed she had run away with her paramour rather than face Keenan again. The innkeeper, they did find, dead over her hearth, eyes staring unseeing at the dark wood finish of her ceiling in her nicely furnished inn. She had died quickly, at least. Her blood pooled beneath her on the wooden slats of the floor. A better death than most that had been lost in those last days.

There were other darkspawn there, not just hurlocks. Genlocks – the shorter, stumpy ones that had come from the dwarven Broodmothers in Kal’Hirol. There were shrieks too, though not many, as if they were remnants of the force that had fled north after the Battle of Denerim. There was even an ogre like the one that they had seen below the Vigil in the Deep Roads, a great mottled beast with massive horns that roared and stormed towards them like a troll, horns lowered like a bull as it aimed to ram them down. 

Nathaniel dove clear, dragging Anders with him. Even Sigrun got out of the way with a shriek of surprise as it came for her, rolling clear just in time. Eideann feinted, caught it by the horns, and hauled herself up onto its fat neck, where she slammed her sword down into its brain once, twice, thrice. 

And then as the creature fell, she leaped clear, landing in a crouch to stare.

“Done that before?” Sigrun grinned, as if it were all a game.

“I tire of it,” Eideann replied, but she did not smile. Instead she focused on him.

“Did we miss anywhere?” she asked, and he shook his head.

“No,” he told her, “but they are still coming, and Captain Aiden said they came from beneath.”

“Is there a Deep Roads entrance under the City?” Anders asked with alarm. Eideann just shook her head.

“There are Deep Roads entrances everywhere there’s a gap in the earth,” Sigrun grumbled. “It doesn’t mean its an official door, per se.” 

“A cave is all they would need,” Eideann nodded, and we don’t know what lies east of Kal’Hirol. The Deep Roads are uncharted this far from Orzammar. That has been half the problem all along.” She grimaced.

“The caves,” Nathaniel said, musing it over a moment. Eideann’s Cousland gaze met his Bryland eyes, and for a moment neither spoke. Then shook his head. “The smuggler’s caves? The ones with the inlet out to the sea that we cleared when your Antivan elf was here? That was a natural cave. If they really did emerge from underneath the city.” Eideann gave him the slightest of smiles.

“The inn that leads to the inlet. If there’s a break into the Deep Roads in those caverns, or even one nearby, it’s the perfect place now there’s no smugglers occupying the space.” She sighed. “We asked Captain Aiden’s men to seal the inn entrance. But the darkspawn may have broken through.” 

Nathaniel nodded, and Eideann gave a quiet sigh. He considered her.

“For the time being, we should regroup with the others at the Chantry and fortify the defenses there.” It was almost dawn, light glinting grey and cold. The clouds had finally started trying to snow. “We can make a better plan when we know what resources we have to work with.” She nodded her agreement, and so the plan was set. 

As they climbed the terraces towards the Chantry, there were fewer darkspawn left, though they were never completely gone. It suggested that the source still remained somewhere, and that the stragglers of the onslaught were gathering for a second wave. They still had to take out the General that was leading these darkspawn. It was unlikely to go while Grey Wardens were rallying the defense of the City. But there were very obvious signs that things were starting to improve a little. 

The Chantry had been made more defensible by those troops that had gone with Captain Aiden, and some of the Silver Knights stood guard with Delilah’s own guardsmen along the steps. Dead darkspawn littered the steps below, proof they had come under some attack, but they reported refugees arriving from across the city, and some at least had made it. That was good news. 

Delilah and the Revered Mother Leanna had established a hospice of sorts. Anders immediately went to see if he might be of assistance, though the look the Revered Mother gave him when she saw him seemed to mean that she would rather poison her flock than let him set his magic to its work. Nathaniel felt a flicker of anger on his behalf, but he himself stayed with Eideann as they walked the cloister.

Captain Aiden was resting with some of his men, trying to recuperate their strength to hold the barricades when the Silver Knights were relieved. Eideann let her own Silver Knights rest alongside them for the time being, hoping to reinforce the troops with men who had some military experience. Most of the Silver Knights were those who had either survived the attack on the Vigil, or else they had come from Denerim in the King’s entourage and therefore fought darkspawn at the Battle of Denerim. Either meant they were more qualified for this current fight than the poor Captain Aiden who had earned his post by circumstance alone and never been much good at it. 

Nathaniel made a mental note to speak with his sister about improving the guard as soon as possible. Perhaps they might be reinforced by those Silver Knights gathered here, since the Vigil was likely to fall. He had little hope of it standing, after the events of the last attack, even with its improvements. And as for the reinforcements, they would be lucky to arrive in time. 

But Eideann was certain they would, or at least putting on the brave face of confidence required of a Queen promising something so important and so strenuous. They gathered at the far end of the Chantry near the candles that burned with the eternal flame, one of Captain Aiden’s men looking severe and worn. At their approach, he gave a deep bow to Eideann, who nodded her head.

“Your Majesty,” he said softly, “we have received word of another wave approaching the city. They will be upon us within the day.” 

“Then we must prepare,” Eideann said, her chin raising. Maker, she was a Commander, was she not, and not just playing the role? He had seen her fight her way through Kal’Hirol, and go forth to meet her enemies several times before, but she had never exhibited the absolute ferocity he saw in her now, the collected soul of valor and strength that had probably last show its face properly when it stood before Denerim’s gates. _This_ was the woman who had raised an army from nothing and tamed a Landsmeet. _This_ was the woman who would lay down everything she was for Ferelden. 

He was as immune to the power of that façade as everyone else in the room, which was to say not at all. It filled him with strength and purpose and determination. 

“I want a scouting band to pick up any final survivors and collecting what supplies we can find. Most of the city has been cleared. As long as they’re careful, they should be fine.”

“That,” Sigrun said, “sounds like a job for a Duster.” Eideann considered her, and the dwarf, perky as ever, flashed her a smile. “I’ll be fine, Commander. I won’t die until I see this General, I promise.” So Eideann let her go, and the dwarf gathered a few of the guardsmen from Delilah’s group to assist. That left only one more thing.

“Captain Garavel,” Eideann said, turning to the man. “I have a task that only you can do.” He gave her a wary look, but she shook her head. “No arguments. This is important, and must be done. I want you to ride for the Vigil.”

“We have spent all night here, Your Majesty. I cannot beat the darkspawn forces there now.” 

“No,” Eideann agreed. “And I do not wish you to. I need you to intercept King Alistair and the Teyrn. If you do not see them within two days, you must ride with all haste to Highever yourself. I cannot let the entire Arling fall.” 

“And you, Your Majesty?” 

“Once Amaranthine is secured,” she said, “then we must strike while we still have the chance. I am about Warden business, and where I go, no other man but a Warden may follow.” She grimaced. “You must go now, Captain, before the second wave arrives. Take a horse, any you can find, but leave us ours if you can. We will yet need them if we are to reach the Mother in time.”

“You cannot wait until reinforcements arrive.”

“The longer this goes on, the more people contract the taint, and the more the darkspawn forces are reinforced. No,” Eideann said simply. “It has to end. We have to cut off the head. Only then can we deal with the rest.” Captain Garavel gave her a quiet look, then a deep soldier’s bow.

“Good luck, Queen Eideann,” he said. “It has been an honor to serve you. Is there a message you would like to pass on to the King or your brother?” Eideann considered it a moment, and Nathaniel watched her mull the words over. And then, after a long pause, she simply bowed her head.

“Tell Alistair…tell him that if the worst should come, my final thought will be of roses and lyrium stars,” and then she turned away. Captain Garavel glanced to Nathaniel, gave him a small bow of head too, and then nodded to himself before stalking across the hall. Nathaniel watched him go with a sinking heart and prayed that Eideann did not find herself thinking of lyrium stars any time soon.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders despairs at being unable to save everyone; Eideann and her group clear the tunnels under Amaranthine; Eideann's Wardens bring down the darkspawn General at the gates; an unexpected gift comes from the unlikeliest of places; Eideann makes a strategic decision; Oghren, Velanna, Keenan, and Justice gather on the walls as the Seige of Vigil's Keep begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence, gore
> 
> Comments always welcome and appreciated. :)

Anders pushed himself up, feeling a ripple of frustration as another of the tainted ones died. There was nothing he could do, no help he could bring, only a quicker death for those that would suffer or else end up slaves of the darkspawn.

This was not the sort of life he had wanted to lead. 

He had first found out he had a knack for healing on an early spring morning about a year after he had been taken to the Circle. The windows in Kinloch Hold, the highest ones on the wall in the apprentice quarters, had no glass. Sometimes birds flew through to roost in the rafters high above and fill the corridors with lonely birdsong.

He had found one of them, its wing broken from a fight with a hawk on the cliffs over Lake Calenhad. The poor thing had been in such pain. Jowan, he remembered, had cried. Solona had tried to make him put the poor thing out of its misery.

He had reached across the Veil in desperation, not in sense, and what he had found was the quiet and gentle touch of the spirits of compassion that leant him the power to help. The bird had quivered, flitted a moment, and then took to flying again from his hands where before it could hardly move at all.

And the Templars had locked him in one of the classrooms for several hours until Irving came to speak to him. And Wynne, the resident healer. She had been in tow. 

From that day on he knew how it felt to see a broken bird fly again, to exchange a pleading glance with a spirit of compassion and feel it flood through his heart. From that day forth he had felt the power that churned within him, promising him the ability to mend all wounds.

And here, in the darkness, in the smog of war, he tried again and again, and failed again and again.

Like he failed at everything else.

When had his hands become so covered in blood? How would he ever make amends?

He wiped his brow and turned away from the fallen man he had been trying to help, glaring up at the effigy of Andraste standing over them all. Was this what she had felt when she had waged her war in Tevinter? Was this darkness, this anger at the lack of progress something the Maker’s Bride also knew? He could feel the spirits beyond the Veil, restless and desperate to be of use, and none of them could. There was nothing any of them could do. 

He hated it. 

The Wardens was a salvation of sorts, a freedom. Eideann had promised him the chance to leave when all this business was done. The longer he stayed the more he realized the Wardens could do nothing against the darkspawn. They were at best a stop-gap and the cost was high for those who survived the Joining. And it was high when they failed for those who depended on them. 

Amaranthine burned, and the blight ravaged its streets, and still he could do so little. His magic, that tool of which he had been so proud, was getting him nowhere. 

There were Templars watching him with angry eyes. They knew his phylactery was gone, and there was nothing they could do about it either. But they were waiting their chance. He had escaped too many times for them to simply give up, and it did not matter if he hid behind the Fereldan Crown or not. Even now he was a wanted man. With every life he took in mercy, he dug his grave a little deeper, and he would never be able to dig his way back out.

His eyes slipped over to Nathaniel where he stood with his sister engaged in some important conversation. A ripple of feeling and sorrow went through him at the sight of the man in dazzling Warden armor, looking cool and confident and capable. 

_Stay with me?_ he had asked, desire in his eyes, and something else. Something…frightening.

There were too many things to think about. He shoved it all away, brought down the cold stony face of focus, and turned to the next patient.

“Anders.” He reached across the Veil, did not look up, but the Commander presumed he was listening regardless. “We are going to clear the caves. Will you stay or go?” 

A choice then? He did not want choices there and then. Another patient slipped through his fingers and he rose, meeting her eyes with a look that must have betrayed his anguish and frustration, because Eideann Cousland softened a little and reached to clap him on the shoulder with a nod.

“Come with me then,” she said, so he did not need to give an answer. “Those here have other healers to tend them.” Less effective healers, healers without magic, healers doing their best with herbs and bandages, and – 

_You’re killing patients in mercy. They can do that as well as you._ He gave a nod, reaching for his staff. At least out against the darkspawn he could be angry and have it show. At least against the darkspawn he would not be bearing the brunt of the Templars’ distrustful stares.

“I’m with you, Commander,” he said softly, and she let her hand fall.

“Nate.” 

The man was at their side in a moment, giving Eideann a nod.

“Are we ready?” 

“The inn first,” Sigrun said, emerging at their side. Anders had not even noticed the scouting band returning. “We did a run by the location you noted, and the place is teeming again. Seems like the caverns were their way in.” Eideann gave a grim sigh, then a nod.

“The caverns first then,” she said, “and we circle back to hold the first barricades.” Anders felt the smooth wood handle of his staff in his hands and tightened his fingers around the grip, giving a nod.

“The sooner this is done, the safer these people will be,” he replied. “Though we still have not seen this General.”

“Oh it’s here,” Eideann assured him as they turned for the door. “It’s only a matter of time before it’s drawn out into the fray.” She put her hand on the door, and a sharp voice cut through them all before she could open it.

“Lady Cousland.” Eideann’s gaze narrowed and she raised her chin before turning back, putting herself in front of her Wardens. It was Revered Mother Leanna, flanked by two Templars, and her look was severe. “Lady Cousland, when this matter is dealt with, you will be returning to the Chantry to turn in this apostate.” Eideann gave a small laugh, but it was cold and angry.

“Leanna,” she said, affording the Chantry Mother the same level of the respect that she had been given, “I suggest you keep a leash on your hounds. Wouldn’t want them to bite anyone, would we?” 

“The Maker sees you for what you are, girl: irreverent and disrespectful, flounting his decrees, and one day his judgment will be known,” the Revered Mother said. Eideann simply gave a twisted little smile, shaking her head.

“When I stand before the Maker, Leanna, it will be with a clear conscience. That is more than I can say for you.” Her smile vanished and was set with an anger so threatening it made Anders feel the weight of darkness settling over him. He grimaced. Something…flickered. 

A soft snatch of a Song. He drew a deep breath. He could…feel her. He could feel Eideann Cousland before him, an echo, a dark shadow. He tensed a little. The Templars were eyeing him warily. One was holding a stance like any moment he might unleash a smite. Was this what Eideann and Keenan felt, this darkness, this haunting song? Was this hearing the Blightsong? Anders shuddered.

"If you ever touch any of my Wardens,” Eideann was saying in a dangerously low voice to the Revered Mother, “I will take this to the Divine herself, and let the might of Val Royeaux fall upon you. I am not without friends, Leanna. And you are quickly making enemies.” She motioned with her chin to the patients and the citizens taking refuge in the Chantry. “Be about your business, and we shall be about ours.” 

“You will return,” Leanna insisted. “This apostate is a wanted murderer. You will bring him to justice.”

“The Chantry’s justice?” Anders said with is sick laugh. “What justice is that?” 

“How many mages has the Chantry murdered in Harrowings? How many good men, women, and children have fallen in Exalted Marches? How many die while you waylay me here, Leanna? Take your derision to the Maker, and let him deal with what it has made you, if he even cares. I suspect, since he cannot be bothered to even watch his children, that he does not mind at all that I am…as you say…irreverent.” And with that she motioned to Sigrun, who shoved open the door, and she stood her ground while her Wardens filed out into the smoky city. Anders went last, his eyes nervous as he considered the Templars, and Eideann grimaced before pacing backwards through the door.

It shut behind them, and Eideann glanced to him.

“Can you seal it? I don’t want any of them following, and if we fail it will give some defense against the darkspawn.” The Silver Knights on the steps were watching with quiet eyes. Anders considered a moment, then filled himself with energy and let a wall of ice creep over the door to seal it shut. And then, business done, he twirled his staff a moment with a sigh.

“It will mean trouble for you,” he said quietly. Eideann just gave him a flat look.

“They will not have my Wardens for their vendetta,” was her reply. “The King himself, a former Templar, was the one who allowed your conscription, and you are a good man. Come.” She nodded to the steps. “Let’s see these darkspawn dead.”

“Eideann…I…I can sense you,” Anders said quietly, and she looked at him with knowing eyes.

“You will sense some of them as well, then. Hold on to the sensation, but learn to move through it. That’s the best advice I have. But be careful. It means that they can sense you now as well.”

The inn was a swarm of darkspawn, some of the Children but mostly genlocks and hurlocks. Anders could sense a few, and it was those he targeted, hurling shards of vicious ice and calling down lightning to rattle through their twisted forms and send them into charred husks that smoked with electricity and heat. 

Eideann dove straight in, Sigrun at her side, to dispatch the Children, with their sprouted legs. One by one they fell, though Anders saw human and dwarf blood splatter the ground as well, and Eideann and Sigrun certainly came through with a few new scratches to add to their scars. 

For a moment it seemed they were ready to move on, but then the inn door burst open, wrenched from its hinges, and a horrific creature reared before them. It was one of the Children, with four long, clawed legs on each side, and a jaw pierced by mandibles that reared apart with an unearthly screech before it set upon Sigrun and Eideann.

Nathaniel’s arrows did nothing. Eideann went down. Sigrun hacked at it as best she could, but the creature focused on the Queen. Anders panicked, gave a cry, and filled himself with spirit energy.

It rocketed outward, battering down the creature in a massive show of force, and Sigrun launched herself at the beast before it could regain its feet. She hacked at it until it lay twitching and shrieking and dying in a pool of dark, tainted blood. Anders stood, chest rising and falling. Nathaniel hurried to help Eideann up.

The woman looked battered, her lip split and pouring blood which she tentatively licked at with a hiss of pain. A nasty purpling bruise was forming at her temple, and deep scratches had been scored across her breastplate, which had probably saved her life.

“Maker’s blood,” she gasped, taking a step back, favoring on leg a moment and glaring at the dead creature. Its legs were thicker than the other Children, but they were still spindly and thin, with sharp claws and hooks. Anders gave a shudder.

“Looks like a thaig crawler,” Sigrun grimaced, pushing her hair from her face. She had her own scratches and weary eyes. Eideann grimaced.

“What sort of broodmother gives birth to thaig crawler darkspawn,” she shot back, and then got a dangerous look in her eye like she may already know. She drew a breath, then pressed her hand to her weeping wound a moment before shaking her head. “Come on,” she barked, and shoved the door out of her way to force herself through the gap into the inn. 

There were genlocks in the area, two archers which Anders and Nathaniel immediately took aim for, and one of the Awakened darkspawn in a red cloak that came charging towards them. Anders could sense only the genlocks, and more further in. The Awakened darkspawn gave a roar, brandishing a wicked looking battleaxe with jagged edges. Anders threw himself clear as Eideann ducked the swing, twirled to slam her swordhilt into the creature’s face, and then whirled about to take off its head with a sharp battlecry. 

“Don’t let up!” she roared and charged the stairs. Sigrun vaulted the bannister alongside her, and they hurtled into the next chambers. Anders chanced a glance at Nathaniel who gave him a nod, and then they followed suit.

The inn cellars had once been sealed over, but the heavy metal trapdoor had been shorn from the hinges and tossed aside by some unimaginable force. Anders stared at it a moment, as Eideann slipped down first into the darkness of the the tunnels that ran below the city. 

He had not been there when they had first cleared those tunnels of smugglers with Eideann’s Antivan assassin friend. He was not expecting them to be so dark, and they reminded him of the tunnels underneath Kinloch Hold. Sometimes there were spiders there too, things with wrinkled flesh that had grown fat on the flesh of whatever lay in the tunnels below. He wondered now, after running through the streets of Kal’Hirol and seeing the blighted arachnids for himself, if they were not one in the same. He did not like what that might mean for the mages in the Tower one bit.

He lowered himself down the ladder into the tunnels, and gave his eyes a few moments to adjust to the dim light. And then he set off, Nathaniel at his side, his heart racing at the thought of more of those fully grown Children ahead. 

“There are still smuggled goods,” Nathaniel said distastefully, but no one had any response. They were piled along the chamber, barrels and crates and chests with broken locks, all waiting for someone to claim whatever was within. 

Anders felt a flicker ahead, that soft echo that may be the Blightsong, and grimaced. 

“Is that - ?”

“Yes.” Eideann twisted her swords into her hands and stepped forth. “Watch out. There’s an emissary.” 

The emissary was Awakened, and it pulled its magic from the Fade. Anders set everything he had against it while Eideann and Sigrun made their stand as the front line of their party. He could feel the ripples across the Veil like a smack across his skin each time the creature reached to cast a spell. It felt wrong, twisted. The spells were not Blight magic, which Eideann had made clear was more akin to Blood magic. Instead it was the use of spirits by _this_ creature. Anders felt a wave of anger wash over him. It was not right for such a beast to call upon the denizens of the Fade to assist it, when it was what had come when the Magisters had walked the Golden City and turned it Black. The spirits were the Maker’s first children, and deserved better. With that thought swelling in his heart, Anders threw everything he had at the creature, ice and lightning crackling together, a storm swirling through the narrow inlet which let out into the sea. 

There was collateral damage of course as his spells battered the other darkspawn as well. That got their attention, and they came for him. Nathaniel stepped in front of then, drawing his shortsword alongside his bow, arrow still nocked so he could fight at distance or close range. Anders wished he had the chance to watch the man work. Nathaniel had a certain deadly grace when he moved. Anders caught him in the practice yard sometimes, sparring with one of the men or testing his skills, and his aim was impeccable, but his knife skills were nothing to laugh at either. 

But there were darkspawn threatening, and worse.

Anders let a wave of spirit wash over the shore, forcing the darkspawn towards the inlet. Several slipped in and were dragged down by the weight of metal armor. Anders let a blast of ice crackle across the inlet surface and froze it sharply into blocks that prevented those that could still rise from escaping the water’s frigid snare and dark and deadly waters. There was a shriek as Sigrun’s axe separated the emissary’s hand from its wrist, and then the creature died when the blade smashed through its skull. Sigrun had to plant her foot against the creature’s chest to yank it free again, and then she turned, Eideann with her, towards the cavern. 

It went back into the darkness, rubble still lining the path that had been cleared.

“I bet anything that leads to Kal’Hirol,” she said, and Eideann gave a grim-faced nod. 

“We have to seal it.”

“Allow me.” Anders stepped forward, summing the last of his energy up to fill the chasm with ice as thick as he could make it. “It will hold for the time being, when an elemental mage with a specialty in earth, or a team of masons can come and seal it properly.” He had been about to suggest Velanna or the dwarves that had rebuilt the Vigil, but he did not even know if they were alive. He grimaced. Eideann gave a quiet nod, then turned towards the last of the tunnels.

“Then we follow it up,” she said, pointing with one of her swords towards a rising set of passages that seemed to surface again beyond the walls on the cliffs.

It was there they got their first glimpse of the army bearing down on them. Sigrun shook her head in rage, and was about to step forth to meet them all, until Eideann stopped her with a quiet warning.

“No,” she said, her voice thin. “We will hold the gate.” 

And so they went, the horde on their heels, racing back along the cliffs towards the city and the barricades, and preyed to beat them there. 

They had only an hour before the other force arrived, Nathaniel guessed, and his tracking was rarely wrong. Eideann pushed them hard, and ahead the walls rose high and fierce and strong, still standing through all the years, through the burning fires, through the blood. 

But the barricades were not as they had hoped. There were darkspawn at the gates already. And that was worse than anything.

Anders had no more mana, and was struggling even to walk, nevermind reach across the Veil and plead assistance from any spirit that would hear him. He caught the desperate look in Nathaniel’s eyes and felt his heart drop from his chest, pounding and aching. How could they ever make it in time. 

And there, besieging the small number of Silver Knights and guardsmen that remained at the barricade, was the darkspawn General and the last and most dangerous of its forces. 

Through the sleet that was finally pouring from the sky to sting their faces and blind them, the looming form of a giant beast rose above the barricades. It was an ogre, there was no doubt, the way it roared and stomped about.

“Not Awakened,” he heard Eideann say. It did not matter. The thing was huge, and rampaging. It glittered wetly, coated in metal. “Sigrun…strike from beneath.” Anders wished he still had energy to call for lightning to fry it inside its shell. He had nothing.

“Commander…” he said, trying to explain. Eideann gave him one look, then nodded.

“Stay out of range, Warden,” she said, and rolled her shoulders. But there was a flicker of fear in her eyes, the blood drying at the corner of her mouth, and she exchanged a glance with Nathaniel before she set her gaze on the creature beyond. “Arrows are useless against this thing,” she said. “But you can take out the General. Nathaniel, that’s your target.” Anders saw the man give a dark nod, then hurried to intercept him.

“I’m coming with you,” he said desperately. “It’s another mage.” 

He could do that much at least, distract it, and if he could regain some energy he might be able to disrupt some spells. It took far less energy to throw up a momentary barrier than it did to summon destructive forces, and perhaps he may yet heal. Maker, he felt so useless though, and all out of lyrium potions. He had used the last as they cleared the city and tried to save the civilians there. He should have been more careful.

Nathaniel gave him a final look, then stepped forward, gripping the front of his tunic with a rough hand and pulled him into a fierce kiss.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” he warned when he broke free, and then he nocked an arrow.

 _Maker, don’t you die on me either,_ Anders thought, and tried to fight the fear now in his heart.

***

A mage and now this…an armored ogre that had already battered the barricade into pieces. The men at the gate were dead or dying, or fleeing into the city for reinforcements they were unlikely to find. If they could not stop the General there, if they could not end the ogre there, the second force could waltz into the city and would never need to fight to claim it and raze it to the ground. 

Sigrun looked somber at her side, but when Eideann glanced to her, she gave a quiet nod.

“As good a way to die as any,” she said softly, and Eideann drew a breath.

“We still need to bring down the Mother,” she replied, and felt the shaking in her voice she tried to will to calm. Not since Urthemiel had she seen something so massive and imposing and dangerous. Its armor was the usual darkspawn sort, thick plates of corroded iron and steel, warped into vicious points so that the armor itself was a weapon. It had blades on thick gauntlets, sharp and pointed, so when it swung it cut too. Eideann’s thoughts went to Alistair, wherever he was, and she felt her eyes cloud with frightened tears. “For Ferelden,” she murmured. “Maker, forgive me.” 

If she was going to die, then please, let it be quick.

She saw Nathaniel and Anders dart for cover towards the row of houses that ran along the gate, so she circled the other way. They could bring down the General – they had to, and she had to believe they would, even if Anders was out of magic – and she and Sigrun had to kill the beast.

Maker, she wished for Alistair, for his strength and his regard. She and Sigrun were dual wielders. They took damage if they tried to stand their ground under an onslaught. They had less defense and more speed, but against a creature so massive, so dangerous, and so well armored…

She had no choice.

“HEY!” She had never screamed so loud. It got their attention, the General and the ogre, and the remaining solders at the barricade clutching at wounds or dying or simply trying to hold their ground through desperation alone if they were not running then and there. Perhaps they knew there was nowhere to run?

The General was Awakened, and dangerous for it, in the Mother’s red cloak, a staff that matched the darkspawn crescent totems in its hand. Eideann’s chest rose and fell as she face down the beast, fear in her heart, everything racing. She could feel her blood pounding in her ears. The Blightsong that hurt her head came pouring from the ogre. She narrowed her gaze as it turned to her, and roared. 

Cailan had died being crushed by an ogre. She had almost watched Alistair die from the same. She stood her ground as it charged towards her, panting for air, waiting until they last possible moment.

She moved without thinking. She just moved. Like the Maker himself had filled her with the ability to beat the creature. Sigrun darted around her, skirting her form as Eideann swung herself clear. The creature reared its ugly head, his roar echoing in its own steel armor as the sleet rang tinny on the metal. Eideann felt it slick down her hair, dampen her face. She arced King’s Justice about and slashed as hard as she could through the thick leather strapping that held the armor to the beast’s gauntleted hand. Blades first.

It fell, loose and wobbly, catching her as she dove clear.

It wore a thick helm, with only a few narrow slits for eyes.

“Keep moving!” she cried to Sigrun as she stumbled back to her feet, leg smarting from the impact. “It can’t see us!” Not if they were faster. 

Sigrun skidded under its legs, axe blades hacking through another of the straps, and the creature roared as its blood splattered across the cobblestones where the blade sank into its mottled flesh.

Eideann swung about, dancing clear of another arm, and she could hardly stop herself from skidding across the wet stones. She regained her balance, and then had to duck, and she felt the wave of a painful spell shoot through her.

 _Alistair._ Maker, he should have been the one, with the shield and the Templar magic. Maker…

It was crushing. She felt it squeezing her tight, causing spots in her vision. 

And then just as abruptly it ended as the sound of an arrow burying itself in flesh cleared through the air. Eideann fell, gasping for air, to her knees, and Sigrun gave a sharp cry.

She barely rolled clear before the ogre came for her, sharp teeth bared in her direction. And Eideann hauled herself up, dizzy, and stumbled back a few steps.

“TRY IT!” she roared at the beast! “I BET YOU CAN’T!” It charged. 

She watched, wearily, waiting, and then Sigrun shoved her clear, reaching for a handhold on the creature’s spiked pauldrons and hauling herself up.

“Get out the way!” the Legionnaire cried, but Eideann was already moving, flanking the beast as it tried to toss Sigrun clear. It spun, and Eideann made her strike, King’s Justice sinking deep into its only exposed flesh at its back.

The ogre reared, and then it roared, a louder roar than any yet, and Eideann’s sword was yanked free as it swung around to face her. She took aim as it lowered is head, and Sigrun finally ripped its helmet clean off, tearing it from its face and hurling it aside. 

The creature charged, Sigrun screamed, Eideann lowered Duty.

She felt the creature slam into her arm, was certain it had wenched her shoulder again, and she had to drop her hand from Duty with a stifled cry of pain. But the ogre stumbled back, giving a numb murmur of pain, and Eideann staggered backwards too as Sigrun toppled from her perch to land awkwardly in a heap, staring, trying to pick herself up. 

Duty was buried to the hilt in the creature’s face, and King’s Justice was buried to the hilt in its back. The beast staggered, and then at last it fell, its body hitting the cobbles with such impact it shook a few of them free.

There was a shriek, and Eideann glanced over to see Nathaniel locked in a battle with the General. Eideann had no strength for her swords as she stumbled towards them. Nathaniel was on the defensive, backing away quickly, unable to nock an arrow in time, resorting only to his blade. 

And then it was not enough. A bolt of energy ripped it from his hand. Nathaniel was thrown backwards, and the emissary General advanced. Anders gave a sharp cry of alarm, unable to reach him in time.

“Nate!” Eideann screamed, and her hand went to the small of her back. She ripped Duncan’s dagger from its sheath and threw it, end over end. 

Nathaniel turned, caught it as it came hurtling to him, and spun, and the knife slammed into the General’s heart, piercing through steel armor and cloak. The creature gave a roar, and Nathaniel ripped the dagger free, slamming it home again, then again, and the creature dropped to its knees. Nathaniel gripped it by the chainmail hood and hauled its face upward, then slit its throat.

The darkspawn died.

Nathaniel let the knife clatter to the cobbles, panting, as blood covered the front of his tunic. And then he turned to Anders who was racing towards him with a look of horror and panic on his face. And he caught him in a one-armed embrace.

Eideann hung her head, panting, finally focusing on her arm, which brought tears to her eyes to move. And then she swallowed, hard, and forced the pain away, going instead to the ogre, to yank her swords from its flesh.

Sigrun had to help. Between the two of them they worked Duty free, and King’s Justice came more easily because it repelled the Blight. Eideann wiped them both on the grass, then sheathed them wearily, Duty with some effort since it was her injured arm.

Anders and Nathaniel came to join them, Anders hurrying, Nathaniel having bent to retrieve her knife. At the barricade, a cry went up, and Eideann looked up, alarmed, but then realized it was not a warning but a cheer. 

People stood, clapping and shouting, tears of relief on their face. Some were soldiers, but others were civilians, or Chantry sisters and brothers and Templars who had emerged. Ander’s ice wall across the Chantry door had finally given way it seemed. 

Delilah hurried towards them, weaving through the barriers, her husband at her side. She was holding bandages, medicinal supplies. A few Chantry sisters hurried after her, and a single Templar. Eideann watched warily as Delilah skirted the fallen creature through the sleet, drenched to the skin with damp, and then ushered Eideann into a seat against the fenceposts that lined the outer yards. 

“Maker’s blood, Eideann,” she said, like they were old familiar friends now. Perhaps they should be after everything. What could have stood between them did not now. And this…this was a time for friends. All her best friends came in adversity.

Delilah reached for her shoulder, and Eideann gave a sharp cry of pain as the woman eased it straight. Tears sprang to her eyes and she leaned her head back, closing her eyes tight and trying to focus on the feeling of sleet splattering onto her face, cold and numbing and distracting. 

She reached with her other hand to work off her pauldron, sobbing softly at the pain.

“Stop it!” Delilah said, slapping her hand away. “You need to stop trying to use it. Just wait.”

“No time,” Eideann gasped. “The next wave…” 

“Commander, our scouts are reporting in.” Captain Aiden knelt beside her, sword in hand. “The next wave is half the size, a cursory measure. And the Templars…”

“Templars.” Eideann pushed Delilah away a little, struggling to get herself up, walking herself up the post and looking about for Anders. The Templar was approaching him. She shook her head and gripped King’s Justice in her good hand, forcing her way past the Captain to intercede.

Anders stood at Nathaniel’s side, though Nathaniel had put himself a little in front of the man and was holding his short sword warily. Eideann joined him at his side, panting softly still, and Nathaniel took one look at her before closing ranks with her, Anders behind them. Sigrun sauntered over as well, arms crossed, to take up a position at Eideann’s other side.

“You will _not_ touch my Wardens,” Eideann said, in as cold a voice as she could muster.

She did not recognize the Templar. She was not one of the ones she had seen before. Perhaps she had come from another part of the Chantry, or else was not stationed at Amaranthine at all, and happened to be there out of her own bad luck.

“Please,” the woman said softly. She looked young, a freshly minted recruit maybe. “I…I am Ser Rylien. I mean you no harm, my Queen, my Lords, Wardens, Enchanter Anders.” Eideann eased only slightly. The Templars wet her lips. Her short brown hair was hanging damply in the rain. “I was in the same cohort that trained King Alistair. He…left the Templars before he took his vows.” Eideann blinked, taken aback, and Ser Rylien proceeded carefully. “Please, I am not here to take Enchanter Anders into custody.” She carefully reached back into a pouch at her side, and drew forth something else then, small vials of lyrium. Anders made a soft noise behind them. Rylien swallowed, then held them forth. “I wanted to thank you, Grey Wardens, for all you have done for Amaranthine. And…I know you need assistance now. Please, it’s all I have. Take it. Let me help?” Eideann stared at it, then up at Rylien who was shaking a little in the cold in her armor as she held forth the lyrium. Six and a half. 

Anders carefully pushed Eideann and Nathaniel apart and reached to take five of the vials.

“I won’t take them all,” he said softly. Rylien gave him a grateful look.

 _Maker, those are her lyrium rations. She offered them all,_ Eideann realized. Ser Rylien bowed her head.

“I wish you well, Enchanter Anders. Please…be kind, and do good. Don’t make me regret this day.” Anders gave a nod, then Ser Rylien gave Eideann a bow. “When you see your King again, tell him Ser Rylien thanks him for his service and is proud of him.” Eideann felt a twinge of…pain in her heart, and gave a quiet nod. And then Ser Rylien backed away, turning back towards the barricade. 

Captain Aiden and Delilah joined them, having stood not far away to watch the exchange. 

“The Templars will help us hold the city,” Captain Aiden said. “The force that is incoming can no longer attack from within, and our fortifications are in place elsewhere in the city. If you leave your Silver Knights, and if we partner with Bann Delilah’s guardsmen, we can hold the gate and repel the incoming force, Commander.” Eideann nodded, but she was watching Anders, who had downed an entire bottle of the lyrium before carefully storing the rest away. Energy restored, he was tending now to her arm, which hurt like something fierce. But she was determined to make a stand now. Sigrun, seeing her determination, was standing where Eideann could lean on her a little for support in order to keep her feet. 

“With the forces coming, the city may yet take heavy losses.” Captain Aiden shook his head.

“No, we will hold, Commander, I swear it. You must return to the Vigil.” Eideann grimaced, then gave a heavy snarl as Anders wrenched her arm back into place and flooded the area with shockingly cold healing magic. 

“Argh! Maker’s holy fucking – OW!” Anders gave her a sheepish look, then turned her about again, pouring another wave of cold through her. Eideann squeezed her eyes shut a moment, then gritted her teeth, looking up at the alarmed Captain and the unimpressed Bann Delilah. “If you can hold the city, Captain,” she said with effort, “then we have to take this chance.” She glanced to Delilah, then Nathaniel. “The Mother is the source of these attacks. If we can reach her, we can end this. Without her to guide them, there won’t be any more assaults on the city or the Vigil. For now, we just have to hope they can stand.” She felt a wave of fear, then glanced to Sigrun. “Fancy hunting another broodmother, my friend.”

“I think this is a hobby of yours,” Sigrun murmured. Eideann simply swallowed, hard. 

“And the Architect?” Nathaniel asked quietly. Eideann simply shook her head.

“I have a feeling we will find him there as well,” she said quietly. “If we go to the source, we find both of our enemies. It’s the only lead I have.” Nathaniel nodded, and Anders drew a solemn breath before adding his own nod. Sigrun simply smiled a little glumly.

“To the death, Commander, wherever you lead.” Eideann gave her a soft thank you, then looked to Captain Aiden and Delilah.

“When then arrive, try to hold them at the gate. If there are more armored ogres, do not engage them. The smuggler tunnels are clear now, and the darkspawn cannot get through. If you get the people down there, you can flee by boat to Highever or Denerim. I hope it does not come to that.” Delilah gave a solemn look, then stepped forward, bowing her head.

“I wish you well, Eideann,” she said softly. “Thank you, for all you have done.” And then she looked to Nathaniel, tears in her eyes. “Maker keep you, brother.” Eideann watched them, feeling the prick of her own tears. She had done the same a year hence when she bade Fergus farewell when he departed to fight darkspawn at Ostagar in another Tevinter ruin far to the south. 

No, this would be different. This would be the end. 

“We will not let the Mother and the Architect destroy Amaranthine in their civil war,” Eideann said softly. “I swear it, but the old blood, the Cousland laurels, the Coastland sea. I swear it on the crown of Ferelden.”

“Then go,” Captain Aiden said, giving her a soldier’s bow. “Maker speed your steps.” 

***

Oghren paced atop the wall, eyes small pinpricks in the darkness, axe heavy at his back, Warden armor filling him with pride.

 _Defend the gates._

“They say,” came the quiet voice of the she-elf from her perch looking over the crenellations, “you were there at the Battle of Denerim, at the gates.” 

“What about it?” Velanna’s voice was quiet as she considered him with sharp eyes.

“What was it like, to stand against the darkspawn there? What was it like to witness Cousland’s Beacon?” Oghren grinned at the memory, but it was bittersweet. Below and along the parapets, the soldiers that made up the Silver Knights, the guardsmen of the nobility, any nobles that could hold a sword, and the remaining royal guardsmen stood with sword or bow waiting for the force. 

It had come in sight at dawn, as the sun broke through the threatening clouds and tinged the world bloody with light. It had made him think of Denerim then, that day under bloody skies with a sodding Archdemon wheeling above. He grimaced over the walls.

“It was sodding wonderful,” he grumbled. “All the death and the dying and the dead. But there was honor in it. And it would have been a good way to die.” He had held the gate with Legionnaires, like he had in the Deep Roads many times before. It had felt…like it should have felt. It had felt like living.

And the light.

“They say the light was bright enough to pierce the sky,” Velanna murmured, glancing back towards the force beyond. “Was it really? Did you see?”

“You couldn’t not see the sodding thing,” Oghren grumbled, leaning against the wall with a sigh. “The Commander likes to be the center of attention.” Velanna shook her head.

“I suppose…it would not be the worst thing to see in the moment of your death,” she finally said. “Better than rain and darkness.” 

“We won’t sodding die here,” Oghren grumbled. “Or if we do, we’ll go out fast and hard like a good old nug-tumbling noble hunter.” He bowed his head a little, eyes narrowing as he peered through the blasted rain-snow to see the smudge on the horizon that was the darkspawn army. “I haven’t lost a fight like this before. The Commander told me to hold her gates, and I intend to.” And he would die doing so. Probably. Most likely. Like a sodding Legionnaire. Should have left that foxy Sigrun here to do the job instead.

 _And Felsi?_ He felt the rush of heated anger bubble up inside. Felsi was inside those walls. He was going to hold them. She may not want to see him, but he was going to protect her and the nugget while he could. Here. Now. 

There was the sound of armor clinking and he looked up to see the dead corpse spirit thing making its way towards them. Velanna too looked over with a certain amount of disinterest, and then sighed, pushing herself up.

“Spirit,” she greeted curtly, as the dead thing took up its position beside her on the wall. Oghren did not exactly like the idea of dead people getting up to fight, but if they were that unmatched they needed the dead to help them win, so be it. Also, the corpse smelled worse than he did, he was pretty sure, so he was fine having the man around for the time being. It had not used any magic yet, though that did not mean it would not. 

Velanna smoothed her hands down her tunic, shaking her head.

“Your skin. It’s…peeling,” she said, considering the dead thing through the corner of her eyes. The spirit just sighed.

“Really? I didn’t notice.” Oghren gave a snort, wishing for a drink, but now was the time to keep to his post. He shuffled his irritation away into the part of him that was channeled into his berserker rage. Instead he pulled his axe from his shoulders and propped it down to lean on. 

“Can I give you a poultice? Anything that can help?” the she-elf said. 

“He’s dead,” Oghren grunted. “Gonna sodding rot, isn’t he?” Mages…like they had never seen dead things before. He was surprised the corpse had not fallen apart already.

The spirit glanced to him, then sighed. Velanna just shook her head.

“What…”she said hesitantly, her eyes slipping back to the corpse, “what will happen to you? Once Kristoff’s body has fully decayed?” 

“I do not know,” the spirit admitted. “Perhaps I will be drawn back to the Fade?” It sounded sodding hopeful. Oghren was just glad he had not been there to witness the damn thing the first time. 

“Or remain here,” Velanna said, eyes narrowed in concern. Concern? From her? That seemed new. She had been more…approachable ever since the encounter with the Dalish in the Plains. Strange sodding… “Bound to the tiny motes of dust that once were Kristoff.” Cheerful.

The spirit looked alarmed.

“Do you think that’s possible?” Velanna shook her head, looking away, leaning back on the crenellation and picking up the wooden staff from where it leaned against the dwarf-built stone.

“I know…less about this than you,” she admitted. “How securely is your spirit bound to this body? Can you leave it?”

“I could, if I chose to,” the spirit admitted. Oghren gave it a wary look. As long as it was not planning on hopping into him next.

“Do you want to leave it?” the she-elf asked, and she was glancing at the spirit again. The corpse was quiet a moment, and when it replied, it was a quiet sigh.

“I…do not know anymore,” it said, and Oghren gave a shudder.

“You stay out of my dead body. Only Oghren gets to touch Oghren’s stuff, you hear me?!” he sniffed, and then stalked down the line. 

“Wardens,” came the quiet command. It was a command. Oghren had been a soldier long enough to recognize that. Keenan climbed the parapet steps, Lucan at his heels. “They will hit us soon. From our best estimates, we’re facing an army that outnumbers our forces three to one. We cannot surrender. Assuming word did reach Highever from Soldier’s Peak, we can expect help within two days. But we cannot rely on that. Be smart, be safe, and remember: we are the experts here. Everyone is looking to you.” His gaze flickered to the spirit, and Oghren could see the man was not pleased to see him, but there were no words exchanged. Keenan simply looked away. “We take an oath to face the darkspawn. Those creatures are here to destroy us. We are the targets, and many people will die for us today and tomorrow and the next day. We cannot let that sacrifice be in vain.” He grimaced. “We follow the plan, and we follow orders, we play it safe where we can, and we defend our charges. The rest is in the hands of fate.” He sighed. “We are a group of predominantly warriors. I want Oghren and…Justice…on the gate. You will be the first line when the defenses fall. Velanna, you and I will be the ranged forces. I can hit individual targets hard, but your skills can tear up the land if need be. I want you to do it, disrupt the field, control the army. If you can make the earth swallow those bastards whole before they reach the gates, do it.” Velanna gave a quiet nod, full of determination. A Warden at last, it seemed. 

“I will make them pay for every life they have taken of my People,” Velanna said coldly. “And I will make them pay for every injury done to myself and our Wardens.” Oghren gave a small smirk.

“Let me at ‘em,” he offered with a grin. “Say the word, Lieutenant, and I’ll be at it.” Keenan gave a slight smile, then shook his head.

“Not yet. But soon, I’m sure. These walls are strong, and the Glavornak brothers have done a damn fine job, but with a force that size eventually they’ll break through. When they do…in that moment we must be ready to fight. That is your moment, Warden Oghren.” Oghren gave a smirk.

“Sodding right it is,” he grinned, then turned back to the force. “We’ll make them taste their own blood before this is done.” 

And then, in the distance, the force began to move, and behind them the horns began to sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES:
> 
> Ser Rylien - She is young enough she could easily have been in the same group that trained with Alistair. It is not canon that she did so (she actually has no established backstory), i just liked the tie-in.
> 
> Anders probably is at Enchanter rank. We can assume he has done his Harrowing since he knows enough about it, so he is probably not an Apprentice. That said, he is not a Senior Enchanter by any means (not old enough and not trusted with that kind of responsibility). The thing with the bird...that's made up. But I figure he might accidentally stumble upon his abilities as a healer in some similar fashion. The windows in the Circle Tower that are just open to the sky...those are real things. :)
> 
> A random note about the caves under Kinloch Hold: In the mage origin, they're full of spiders which have come from somewhere (the Senior Enchanter in charge is not actually sure where they came from). My only theory about this is that they've come from the Deep Roads themselves (spiders don't seem to swim well on a good day, and so I doubt they came across that way to the island). There are Deep Roads underneath Kinloch Hold, from the map (see tumblr post of this [here](http://higheverrains.tumblr.com/post/124899607108/deep-roads-overlay-map)). The Architect himself appears to have used them during his infiltration of the Circle Tower (probably unlikely he swam across too), and so the fact there are spiders down there again should be concerning. The idea that some of them might be blighted spiders or corrupted spiders is not entirely a stretch then, and it is this that Anders referenced. He may even have escaped through those tunnels before? Who knows? 
> 
> The smuggler's tunnel is actually darkspawn infested in the game, but they were coming in through the old house. I don't actually give the darkspawn the credit for finding this tunnel themselves (since they didn't find the one into Kal'Hirol that was hidden either), so I think an actual tunnel entrance down there makes more sense, especially since, in Inquisition, we see a LOT of darkspawn pouring through random holes in caves and old ruins where they just broke through, and because we know the entire area under Amaranthine is littered with Deep Roads and old ancient forgotten thaigs. 
> 
> A final point: it is noted on the series page that this series becomes more AU as we go along. Begin to expect this to become more prevalent from here-on- out as Eideann's story is starting to wrap up (this part anyway) and Sidonie's is beginning to kick off. There will be liberties taken (lore friendly whenever possible) and some additional scenes/switches to different characters, etc. If you've been reading and enjoying the story so far, I hope you continue to like it. The reason for the AU deviations is because by the time we hit Inquisition, we should have three finely woven story threads for Eideann, Sidonie, and Sema all the way through the events that occur during Inquisition and beyond. That means I have to do some legwork to keep the three of them all moving forward and continuing to grow/exist in the world. I also want to keep telling the story of a lot of the minor characters as we get to various points (like we've seen with Sera, Nathaniel, Anders, Sigrun, Velanna, Leliana, Oghren, Zevran, Isabela, Cullen, etc... so far). A lot of the Dances bulk comes from those storylines playing out and winding into the overall themes and story arcs and main character arcs, so...there will be more of that forthcoming, as always. :)
> 
> THANKS TO ALL MY LOVELY READERS! I LOVE GETTING ONLINE AND SEEING HOW MANY OF YOU HAVE JUMPED ON TO READ A CHAPTER POST! As always, my comments are set to allow anonymous posting, so if you are a guest, you don't need a log-in to leave a comment. Also, if you aren't aware of it yet, I do have a [Tumblr Page](http://higheverrains.tumblr.com/DancesInDarkness) where I post meta, Dances stuff, and things that interest me about DA. Check it out sometime! :) ~HigheverRains


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Siege of the Vigil results in heavy losses as the Wardens are boxed in; Oghren takes a stand; Captain Garavel reaches the King's camp; Seneschal Varel and Warden-Lieutenant Keenan try to hold the final gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: violence, gore, character death (canonical)
> 
> Comments always welcome.

The sky was thick with smoke and the screams of war. The horns still sounding high on the walls. The earth rumbled and roared as magic urged it to life, caused it to rise and fall like waves on the sea. Blood splattered the walls, tainted and metallic. 

Velanna gripped the wall hard as another earthquake shook the foundations.

“Enough with moving the earth! My walls aren’t meant to stand on the sea!” came the angry cry of a dwarf in dwarven plate, his eyes beads of rage down the parapet. 

“I’ll let the darkspawn hit them then!” Velanna shouted back. But she was wearying, every spell an extra effort.

The ground below was torn and battered, the face of the Earth pocked with fresh scars and cuts, torn by branch and stone until it was a deathtrap that spread through the fields below the outer walls.

Within, the armies waited, nervous, a few of them crowding the portcullis gate, where the darkspawn swords broke through. Velanna reached for fire, but it sputtered out.

“I’m done!” she roared towards the Warden-Lieutenant. “I can’t hold them back!” And with that she ran, taking the steps two and a time, as a massive force hit the walls and caused them to shudder again.

“Get back!” Keenan roared, his dog at his heels. “Here they come!” 

They hit with all the force of the sea crashing against the cliffs. People died at the gate, where spears and magic lanced through the portcullis and drove them down into the dirt. The gate held, shuddering under the force of the driving darkspawn, but not for long. 

An explosion – one of the mad dwarven explosives – spewed fire across the metal gate, burning darkspawn and their own men indiscriminately as fire rained down upon them. 

“Hold!” Keenan roared.

At his side, Seneschal Varel in silverite armor grimaced.

“We’re losing the gate!” he called, and then to prove his point the gate gave a great wrenching groan.

The earth shook with each step as the ogre drew forward.

“Bring it down!” someone was shouting. Velanna’s boots hit the ground and she wheeled towards the gate, panting, unable to summon any other energy to fire in that direction. Instead she watched, helpless, as thick fingers covered in metal armor bent about the metal portcullis and heaved. 

The metal groaned and overhead stones aflame arced over the walls, battering against the stone of the Vigil and sending brick toppling down across soldiers below. 

The ogre heaved, the gate shrieked in a twist of contorted metal, and then gave way. The darkspawn were inside.

 _Mythal’enaste! Why did I not learn the Vir Tanadhal!?_ And then there was no more time to think. Velanna turned and ran, back to the keep, to the barbican. She needed lyrium. Now.

There was a mighty crash behind her, and she saw the first of the towers fall above the gate, dragged down by armored ogres and darkspawn magic that made her skin prickle. She saw it fall in a cloud of dust and smoke and flame, and raced up the last of the steps as the darkspawn flooded the front gate.

Behind her, Oghren roared. 

_Falon’Din, should I fall, guide me through the Fade._

***

Oghren gave a mighty roar, launching himself into the melee alongside the Silver Knights. Several were scattered with the mighty swing of the armored ogre’s massive arm, the blades on its armor cutting through their own cuirasses like they were made of surface butter. Oghren dodged, then caught the next strike against his battleaxe, feeling the force reverberate. 

But he would not fall. 

Behind him, soldiers rushed in to keep the darkspawn from spilling through, but that was already too late. The outer land was lost. Now, it was down to a single point: bring down the ogre or lose the courtyard as well. 

Oghren threw himself in with a rage, channeling all his anger. For too long had he wasted himself in minor battles, sat by waiting while others did the work. For too long had he let himself live in the stupor of a life hardly worth living at all. 

This. This was where he could make a sodding difference. And by the tits of the ancestors, he was going to. Here. Now. This is was his moment.

“You’re not taking these sodding walls!” he roared. 

His battleaxe was sharp, its edge keen, and he felt it slide through the corroded metal of the armor the ogre was wearing.

 _Blighting sodding ogres! When did they get sodding armor!?_

He saw the man beside him get speared through with a darkspawn sword, and hurled himself back, battering the hurlocks that were pushing through back. And then he shoved the others behind him and drove forward.

“Get back! I’ll hold them! Get back!” They had lost the courtyard. They were only in the way now.

He dove at the ogre, a roar on his lips, and met solid metal. And it hurt. Sodding nug humping - !

He pulled back, blood dripping from the wound in his chest where his armor had caved in under the impact. It was hard to breathe. He was staggering forward, every breath like a knife into him. Broken, something, no sodding clue what.

He gave another wordless roar.

The ogre swung, Oghren managed to dodge, and the creature stormed past him. He toppled back, slumping in the gate under the still-standing tower, gapsing for air, everything aflame with pain. 

And then he saw it, the ogre, charging towards the next gate.

 _No._

How many people were in there? How many sodding fools hiding behind the blighted walls?! He had to…he…

 _Felsi…_

It filled him with a rage unlike any he had felt. Not the memory of Branka, not the anger of her betrayal, not the thick hatred he had felt when he cowered from the broodmothers in the Deep Roads and made Eideann fucking Cousland go on alone with a Duster moppet and an injured cripple to kill them instead. 

_Don’t go NEAR her!_ he heard, or maybe thought, or maybe both.

And he ran.

His vision slid into white, blurry and broken, shattering into prisms of light as he ran. He gave up on breathing. What was the point if it was holding him back? He felt himself fill with red.

And he screamed.

The ogre turned. Oghren slammed into it. His axe came around, with some energy he could hardly feel. And he screamed again. 

And he felt the damn thing die. 

It toppled, and something pushed him aside, something he was not expecting.

He hit the ground, gasping, flopping like a dying fish on the cobbles.

The warmth of blood caked into his hair, the ogre’s and his own. Above him the rain-snow was starting to become real snow. 

_Cover that white land with sodding red blood,_ he thought. _When from the blood of battle, the Stone has fed…_

Something was above him. Someone? He felt a rush of something, not pain, but…something sharp and cold and then he shuddered. The white light faded, the red too. And then everything slipped into black.

***

“Fenedhis! Don’t your dare!” she screamed, pouring everything she had into the spell and cursing again her foolishness at not learning every healing spell she could from Keeper Ilshae. It was too late now. Too late for everything, for…

 _FOCUS!_

She could feel hot tears of anger and loss on her face. _No, no, no, no, no, no!_

Oghren shuddered under her, and she burst into sobs, trying harder.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t your dare! I will kill you if you die on me! Do you hear me, you foul little durgen’len - ! I will _kill_ you! Ar tu na’din! Ar tu na’lin emma mi! Ma halam!” She sat back, tears on her face, shaking.

“Velanna, stop shouting at him in elven and focus!” came a cry and she recognized the voice. Keenan. Yes. Yes, she needed…she had to…

Oghren gave a low, sharp hiss, and she pulled her knife from her belt, sawing through the thick leather straps before forcing the Warden breastplate free. Suddenly the dwarf’s chest expanded, and he spluttered, coughing blood and all sorts. Velanna gave a weak laugh through her tears, then bent over him, pouring magic into him as much as she could. He settled back with a groan.

“What the sodding - !” She shoved him down angrily, wiping her tears away on the back of filthy hands, probably smearing dirt and blood across her own face as she did so. And then she sniffed. 

“Shut up, foul-breathed toadstool!” she hissed. “Or I will break more of your ribs.” 

“The…that…”

“Dead, but more coming. No time.” She finished the spell and then reached to force herself up, motioning hurriedly for some of the Silver Knights to carry him away. They hurried to her side.

“Hey! Hey! Get the sod - ! No! I - !” She shook her head, then glanced over to Keenan wearily. He was working with Lucan to move the ogre’s arm. Beneath, trapped, was the damaged corpse of the Warden Kristoff with its resident spirit Justice trapped inside. Velanna gave a sharp shove and managed to move the ogre by sheer might alone, the earth swelling to push it away. 

But it was too late for the Spirit, who lay in a pool of half congealed blood from the beast and from Kristoff’s rotting form. The impact had scattered some of the pieces of the body, broken through rotting flesh. Velanna met the inhuman eyes. 

“Ah, Mythal’enaste,” she murmured.

“We can’t move him,” Keenan said grimly. Lucan was growling. The darkspawn were coming, the last of their defenses falling, people fleeing about them.

“Go, mortals. It is enough.”

“He can…a new body…perhaps…” The spirit shook his had, and Velanna grimaced, then gritted her teeth, giving a sharp nod. “Then there’s nothing…”

“We go then,” Keenan said sharply. “We have to. Now.” Velanna gave the Spirit one last look.

“I hope you were right, Spirit. I hope you are called back to the Fade…” The Spirit just shifted its broken body, neck twisted at the wrong angle, and Velanna shuddered.

And then there was a roar and she saw the darkspawn descending upon them. No. There was no more time. She tore away, turning and dashing for the last gate. At least the ogre was dead. 

Keenan and Lucan raced after her, and the portcullis slammed down, blocking the courtyard from the outer yards just in time. Velanna stared back, panting, at the fallen Spirit who had saved that foul little dwarf…

And she sighed. 

“We will all die here, won’t we?” she said to Keenan, who gave her a solemn look, then swallowed.

“If we do,” he said quietly, “then it won’t be for lack of trying to survive.” She narrowed her gaze as he turned away, going to find Seneschal Varel, and then cleared her throat. 

“So be it,” she said quietly. “Emma ir abelas souver’inan isala hamin, vhenan him dor’felas in uthenera na revas.” 

***

Keenan sighed, fingers tangling through Lucan’s fur as he propped his foot up on the firepit with a grimace. At his side, Seneschal Varel, a few of the better equipped nobles, and Sergeant Maverlies stood waiting.

“What is the plan, Warden-Lieutenant?” Seneschal Varel asked quietly. Keenan wet his lips, considering his options, but any way they sliced it the entire thing was a mess.

“We’ve taken heavy casualties from their sweep of the yard, and now they can hit the Keep itself from the courtyard,” one of the nobles added. Keenan nodded.

“The darkspawn General at the head of this army…it’s a mage. Are there any of you with Templar skills?” 

“Me, ser,” a man said, stepping forward somberly. He had a cold glint in his eyes, like he had seen enough. He was not in Templar armor, though, instead wearing layman’s clothes.

“Where’s your weapons?” Keenan asked sharply, looking him up and down. The man gave him a flat look.

“Under cover usually requires we leave the plate at home, Warden,” he said flatly. 

“Under cover.”

“Anders…” Of course. The man was there to keep an eye on Queen Eideann’s mage. The man had been conscripted from under the noses of the Templars with King Alistair, Keenan had heard. That must have irked them to no end. And without a phylactery to use to track him down, they had probably set a man to watching his movements immediately. But even a Templar mage hunter could not follow Anders without questions arising eventually, so Anders was far gone now, and the Templar was trapped with them.

“I need your help,” Keenan said. The man gave him a flat look.

“And why should I? Have you done anything to win the help of the Templars recently?” he insisted.

“Look,” Keenan said sharply, letting his boot fall and leaning towards the man imposingly. “If we don’t take out that General, we will lose this fight, and everyone here will die. You and I both have bigger responsibilities than Anders, don’t you think, given the current circumstances.” The man sighed, then grimaced.

“I need armor, and I have to get close. Your people will support me, I won’t reach the damn thing. And I want a guarantee it won’t kill me.” Keenan grimaced, then let his gaze slide to Varel. 

“Prepare a Joining cup,” he said darkly. There was shudder of concern from the nobility, but Keenan ignored them. Varel gave him a quiet look of consternation. “If he gets tainted in this fight, we Join him. That’s the best I can offer.” He looked to the Templar. “It is the best guarantee I have to give you.” The man considered it, a distasteful look on his face, and then finally he nodded.

“So be it. Better than dying to the Blight. But so help me…” 

“We won’t let you die if we can help it. But we need a Templar on the field.” The Templar nodded, and gave a soldier’s bow. “What’s your name, Ser…?” 

“Rolan. Ser Rolan, of the Denerim Chantry,” he said simply. Keenan nodded, then motioned for Ser Rolan to go with Varel.

“Get him heavy plate from the Warden stores. Dress him the part, if nothing else. It’s all we have that is going to last against an onslaught like we’re looking for.” Varel nodded, and then Keenan paced across the hall, Lucan dogging his heels. 

This was getting worse and worse. He could hear the explosions outside where Velanna was commanding the defense with the Silver Knights. Justice was still on the wrong side of the portcullis, but there was nothing to be done for a body that could barely even hold together anymore. They had to deal with the people on this side of the wall. They had to stop the darkspawn somehow. 

Maker, it looked bad.

He looked to Sergeant Maverlies, and she stared back, eyes cool under crow’s feet. She gave him a quiet nod.

“Say the word, Lieutenant,” she said simply. He drew a breath. 

“I need our best people together for a unified strike the moment the General shows his face,” Keenan told her simply. “For now, we just have to hold them back. Set up a rotation, Sergeant, and make our forces stick to it. If we can just hold out a little longer…”

“You really think reinforcements are coming?” Lord Eddelbrek said glumly. “They should have arrived by now if they were.”

“I trust Queen Eideann, and I trust Seneschal Dryden. The King and the Teryn will bring forces. We need only wait,” Keenan said simply.

“And if they do not come? If word was lost?” 

“Then the Queen herself will come.”

“With what army?” 

“Whatever army she can find,” Sergeant Maverlies said simply. “Just like she has always done. If there is one thing the Commander is good at it is getting armies to follow her.” Keenan sighed, shaking his head.

“If you give up now, you may as well walk out through those gates and die first as last, my Lords. I am going to fight, and hold this fortress, and I need your help to do it, but with your help we _can_ do it. And if you will not trust me, then trust to the Maker, for he surely would not allow us to survive the Blight simply to die a few months later from the same darkspawn threat.” There was a murmur, and Keenan grimaced. “Sergeant, the roster…” Sergeant Maverlies nodded, then stepped up to the fires, calling out the names of the different shifts. Keenan drew back, moving towards the doors of the keep. He prayed that they would not lose the courtyard as well, but he knew that was a possibility.

He paused in the barbican to consider the options there. The portcullises stood over the two entrances, ready to be dropped if the retreat became necessary. Over the first portcullis, murder holes from the upper corridors stood waiting, and above, Keenan hard ordered all the grease from the kitchens brought up in barrels, ready to be poured over the army and set alight. Maker, he did not want to use it.

But they were running out of options.

He ran into Velanna in the courtyard, sitting atop the parapet with the archers, peering at the broken body of the corpse of Kristoff. He could see it occasionally move. The Spirit was still within. 

“Do you think he will reach the Fade?” he asked quietly, and she shook her head.

“I do not want to think on it at all. There is nothing that we can do for him until we have managed to drive them back. And that is looking increasingly unlikely.” She glanced to him. “Has…has the Commander abandoned us? I thought she sent for reinforcements, but where are they?” 

“Coming,” Keenan said, but he was starting to doubt it himself. There were too many things that may have gone wrong, too many reasons for a letter to never reach the King at Highever. The terrain in the north was treacherous, and if the tunnels underneath were flooded with darkspawn, the entire north might be under siege. Maker, he did not want to think on that. 

He set his jaw, considering the darkspawn out on the yard, Children among them. No. They would not let all those taking refuge in the castle die because they gave up. He would save them. He had to.

He drew a deep breath, and Velanna gave him a quiet look.

“You really think we can win,” she said, and it was not a question. He nodded.

“We don’t have a choice,” he said, reaching to nock a bolt into his crossbow and aiming along the sight. “We have to.” He let it fly, and below one of the Children gave a low squeal and died. He lowered the crossbow, then looked to her. “One at a time, Velanna. Remember Seranni. We still have to save her.” She just shook her head.

“She only followed me in the hopes of changing my mind,” Velanna said quietly. “Do you really believe we can still save her?” Her voice was laced with skepticism. “Sometimes I think you humans have more hope than I.” Keenan just sighed, shaking his head.

“If she can be saved, we will save her. And if she cannot, we will do all we can to learn that,” he promised. “You were crying over Oghren.”

“He is a belligerent fool,” she shot back angrily, crossing her arms and looking abruptly away. “And he will get himself killed.”

“You care.”

“No I do not!” Keenan gave a soft laugh and nocked another bolt, taking aim again and firing before glancing sidelong to her.

“Back on the plains, when we ran into your clan…”

“They…” Velanna bowed her head. “They are not my clan any longer. I am no longer one of the Dalish. I was…exiled.” She narrowed her eyes. “The Wardens are now my clan. And I will defend them. Even the foul-mouthed reeking liars like Oghren.” Keenan gave a slight smile and nodded.

“Join us, brothers and sisters,” he said simply, and she gave the slightest of smiles. “Chin up, Velanna. We’ll pull through. Everyone’s looking to you. They need you to be strong for them. And I know you can be. Time to show them what a Dalish First can do.” Velanna gave him a small smirk, then rose from her seat, and collected her staff.

“I think I’ll start with fire.”

***

The snows swirled about him, more snow than sleet now, and frigid. He had no cloak, and the horse he had taken was a thin thing better made for farming around the Vigil. He had not thougt to need a warhouse, as Captain of the guard, and on the ride out to the City, they had taken whatever steeds were available. At least the creature had good footing, but he had been travelling all day and halfway through the night, pushing himself as hard as he dared and praying not to founder the horse. And still he had seen no sight of the North Road or the army that was meant to be riding to meet them.

He had given the Vigil a wide berth, mainly because he did not know where the army was fielded that was laying siege to the keep. It meant he was quite easily lost, and in the darkness it was dangerous to travel so alone.

He had no choice. Eideann Cousland had bade him ride south to meet the army, to send help as quickly as he could. He only wished he had been better prepared.

The clouds had veiled the stars above. For so long he had walked in twilight, shaking in the cold, until he was not even shaking anymore, and just felt numb. That was dangerous too.

And then, in the distance, up in the foothills, he saw it. A glimmer. The slightest of signs. A fire.

He spurred the horse as fast as he dared, wary of uneven ground, and pushed onward, desperate to reach the source.

It was another hour’s ride before he at last hit the North Road, which was blanketed in a quiet dusting of snow that threatened to grow deeper. He could see more fires now, make out the outline of a camp against the grey and heavy clouds that made up the night sky. A wash of relief flooded him, and he let out a sign. Within minutes he had come across the sentries.

“What’s this?” the first asked, waving him down. He drew the horse up short, and nearly stumbled as he tried to dismount, his feet to numb to hold him. The first of the sentries caught him, and a second caught his horse.

“Please. Is this the King’s camp. Is the King or the Teyrn here?” he begged, and his voice felt thin and reedy. “I have…an urgent message from her Majesty, the Queen.” 

That got them moving if nothing else. He did not remember how he arrived at the camp, bundled in furs within a round pavilion tent before a roaring fire in a brazier pouring smoke out into the sky through a single hole in the ceiling. A mug of hot ale was pressed into his hand, and the warmth made the bitter taste flee and brought out warmer tones that made the ale taste flat. That was fine, it was less heady. They also gave him a big bowl of steaming stew which burned to try and eat. 

And then he found himself in the company of Teyrn Fergus Cousland and King Alistair Theirin. 

Teyrn Fergus was clad in silver and blue armor, a thick cloak lined with black bear fur dyed a rich blue tied under one pauldron so he could reach his sword. He had darker features than the Queen, dark brown hair and brown eyes, but the shape was the same as Eideann’s, and narrowed to consider him with the same weight of duty held in a Cousland gaze. That was a look of a man who had seen a lot of things in his life, just like the Queen had, though different, older, tamer perhaps? Less fire and more stone.

The King was a different matter. Alistair’s mouth curled at the corners unwillingly, like he spent much of his time smiling, and that eased something within Captain Garavel as he sipped at the stew that was still too hot. King Alistair was wearing Warden plate that matched Queen Eideann’s, a crimson short-cloak lined with dark, soft wolf-fur about his shoulders. He had a silverite and iron band on his finger, since he wore no gauntlets at present, and Garavel remembered Queen Eideann with one similar. The King crouched before the brazier, resting his elbows atop his knees and considering Garavel.

“Eideann’s letter spoke of factions…” he said. “She asked for a military presence to help settle their Civil War.” Garavel shook his head.

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but the situation is now far worse than a simple Civil War. We have been dragged into the conflict. The Vigil is currently under siege.” Alistair’s eyes were dark, the deep amber solidifying into cold, hard gold as he stared into the braziers. 

“This Mother and the Architect, do we know where they are?” he asked. Garavel grimaced.

“The information we have places them at Drake’s Fall, but if the Vigil is not reinforced, it will fall, and it is currently the stronghold of most of the Farevel Plains. Hundreds of refugees have fled there in the past week, and more will have arrived fleeing the army that has descended. If we cannot help them…” He left that empty, since he did not know what would happen and the King would probably have a better idea. Fergus Cousland, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, shook his head grimly.

“We can ride out within a few hours,” he said, “provided we break camp immediately.” He looked to Garavel. “What sort of numbers are we talking about?” Garavel grimaced.

“Hundreds,” he said, “led by darkspawn that can think.” 

“Because it can’t just be easy to kill mindless darkspawn,” King Alistair grumbled, then glanced up to the Teyrn. “There’s nothing for it. Either we ride now or they fall, Fergus.” The Teyrn nodded his agreement. 

There was a rustle at the tent flaps and another man, in Redcliffe colors, stepped forward. Bann Teagan of Rainesfere, armored as the other two, gave Garavel a nod, then glanced to the King.

“Alistair, our scouts are reporting back. The outer wall has fallen.” So then they already knew that there was trouble at the Vigil. Garavel down his scalding soup and hissed at the burning in his throat, but he felt it flood him with warmth and eased at that at least, finishing off the ale too which soothed his raw throat a little. 

The King rose, looking back to the Captain.

“Will you ride with us, or do we need to go without you?”

“My horse is a plowhorse, I’m exhausted from battling at the City against the darkspawn that attacked there, and I’m so cold I cannot grip my sword. But I will kill the bastards with my teeth if need be, my King.” The King grinned and nodded.

“Not the advised plan of action,” he said simply, “but if you have your heart set on it, I cannot stop you.” He glanced to Bann Teagan and Teryn Cousland. “Strike camp. We ride out as soon as we can. They’ll fall before we reach them if we wait until dawn.” It was already the middle of the night anyway.

Garavel watched as they dispersed, then realized with some awkwardness he was in the King’s tent. King Alistair simply crossed behind him, reaching for his gauntlets that lay atop the furs piled in a mound for a bed. He worked them on, shaking his head.

“I really thought,” he said conversationally, “that we would be done with this nonsense by now.” He did not look up as he worked on his gauntlets, the one he was not working on tucked under his arm for safekeeping as he tightened the straps of the other side. “You are the Captain of the Guard, yes? I remember you from my earlier visit.” Garavel nodded, rising nervously from his seat and giving a quiet soldier’s bow.

“Captain Garavel, Your Majesty. I…survived the first attack on the Vigil.” Alistair gave a solemn nod.

“Then you’ve been working with Eideann a great deal these past few months.”

“In some capacity,” Garavel admitted. “She has been away often on business dealing with the darkspawn across the Arling and trying to put the political situation to rights. She has been relying more on Seneschal Varel for assistance.” Alistair switched to his other gauntlet and glanced back.

“Perhaps you’ll be honest with me, then, where she isn’t. How dangerous has Amaranthine been? She told me she was taken captive, that there is this Civil War, and that she was dealing with dangerous political situations. But none of that is the truth, is it? There’s a lot more going on than I have been made aware of. Would you mind filling in the gaps?”

Garavel was a little torn between his loyalty to Queen Eideann and that to King Alistair. After all, they were co-regents. It was possible to be loyal only to one if need be, rather than both. Why would the Queen not tell the King all that had transpired, though? He was soon to be her husband, and a Hero of the Fifth Blight, her Second-in-Command of all Wardens. 

It was that which finally made him reply.

He told the King everything then, from the beginning, from the Deep Roads entrance underneath the Vigil that had been sealed, to the Queen’s capture in the Wending Wood by the Architect. He went through the detailed upgrades to the Vigil that Queen Eideann had insisted upon, the Silver Knights and their new armor made by Master Wade who had arrived after Alistair had paid him to go northward. He explained the events of Satinalia, when Eideann had made merry in the halls of the Vigil, and then deliberately drunk poison at Bann Esmerelle’s party. He told him everything that had happened at Kal’Hirol (at least that he was aware of) and also the Queen’s experiences in the Blackmarsh and the fate of Warden Kristoff. By the time he was done, Alistair was dressed for war and leading him out into the snows where Bann Teagan and Teryn Fergus were assembling troops for war. 

“Captain Garavel,” the King said simply, “get yourself a horse. You’re coming with us.” And then he glanced to the Teyrn. “Leave a minimal guard here with the tent – those that are not ready to ride. The rest of us depart immediately. The Vigil is manned by less than a hundred men.” The Teyrn looked troubled, but he nodded and grimaced.

“Then we ride,” Bann Teagan said, his horse dancing under him. “And hope we are not too late to save them.” 

***

They were through into the courtyard. Keenan stood with Seneschal Varel, sword in hand, though he was far out of practice, waving the last of their soldiers through into the barbican. Some of the Silver Knights stood with them. Velanna darted past him, taking the steps up to the parapets above two at a time. 

“Get the pitch ready!” Keenan called after her, desperate. The Children swarmed one of the nobles at the gate, and screams cut the air. There was no time.

There was a cry from high above, and Keenan saw the guardsmen set to man the portcullis come toppling over the wall to hit the ground with a rough splatter and a final scream to die. He looked up, desperate, then cried to Seneschan Varel.

“Hold them back!” And then he ran, Lucan at his heels, tearing through the darkspawn that flooded the barbican despite the efforts of the valiant Silver Knights and the lords’ bannermen. He found the gatehouse infested with a handful of hurlocks, a single Awakened hurlock amidst their number who grinned its jagged grin at him before diving into the fray. Keenan brought upm his sword, too slow, and the darkspawn blade pierced his shoulder. He roared. Lucan leaped and dragged the nearest darkspawn down, ripping out its throat and moving on, blood on his muzzle. Keenan steadied himself for a fight, his legs burning from old injuries that had never properly healed despite Anders’ best tries. And then he swung, cutting through one. 

He and Lucan dispatched the others, and the Awakened hurlock faced him down, until a well placed arrow from Sergeant Maverlies behind him took it in the throat.

“Quick!” she roared and hurried to help him bring down the portcullis. Below, Seneschal Varel and a handful of his knights stood against the tide. 

“With me!” Varel called darkly, rallying those that could still fight to help him defend the barbican gate. “Hold together men! Andraste’s blood, hold! On me! For the Wardens!” Keenan and Maverlies battled against the mechanism, kicking at it trying to get it loose.

“Come on, come on, come on!” Keenan roared.

And then there was a smack, a thud, and Varel cried out loud and sharp. An ogre roared down below, and Keenan kicked the mechanism as hard as he could, feeling the shooting pain in his legs as he did so. The portcullis rattled down, spearing through the great beast with spikes that drove downward. It tried to hold the portcullis up. Keenan leaned out the gatehouse window.

“Velanna!” he roared. “Now!” 

Black grease and pitch poured through the murderholes onto the beast and the darkspawn below. And then they caught afire as Velanna’s magic raced down along the black falls. The ogre roared, staggering back, its entire flesh burning and searing with thick pitch and grease fires. The scent of burning flesh filled the air, and Keenan hurried down the steps with Lucan as the beast flung itself through the gap, and the portcullis came slamming down.

A few of the soldiers were trapped on the wrong side, and died screaming against the bars as the Children tore them apart or the burning pitch roasted them alive. A few of the darkspawn had made it inside, and these the remaining Silver Knights slew. Velanna, appearing back at the steps, buried the burning ogre under a wall of stone, like the keep itself had come up to swallow the beast, and it died, flesh burned away, a mere remnant of the creature it had once been.

Keenan hurried to the side of the dying. He gave a sword of mercy to those he could not save. One was still well enough that only his arm had been crushed by the gate. The darkspawn were clawing for him, desperate, and he was screaming. Keenan hacked through his arm at the elbow and then hauled the man back, passing him off the Maverlies who hurried to get him inside as he screamed. Velanna threw up a wall of fire that drove the darkspawn at the portcullis back, and then they both turned to Seneschal Varel, who was coughing and lying in a pool of blood. The ogre’s horns had flattened his armor, and he could not rise, no matter how hard he tried. He was battered, body broken at last. Keenan let his sword clatter to the ground and dropped to his knees by the Seneschal’s side.

“Maker,” he gasped. “Varel.” The Seneschal tried to drag himself up, and Keenan put out a hand to catch his, shaking his head. “Lie still.” 

“Lieu…Lieutenant?” the elderly man said weakly. Varel nodded, face contorted in despair. “Did we win?” 

“Ah, you fool,” Keenan hissed, blinking back angry tears. The man looked up at him and saw the truth of his death in Keenan’s eyes.

“It…it has been an honor,” he gasped. Keenan shook his head, gasping his hand tightly. “Tell…tell the Queen…thank you. And…fight them…with everything…you have.” Keenan looked up desperately, and Velanna was at his side already, trying without luck to work healing spells. Varel was elderly, and had taken the blow full on, unlike Oghren who would live though seriously injured. 

“Velanna, please…!” the elf shook her head, letting the spell fall.

“I’m no Anders,” she said quietly. Varel bowed his head, and Keenan glanced back to him. Velanna reached to close the old man’s eyes as his last breath left him. “He’s dead, Lieutenant,” she told him softly. 

And still the darkspawn came.

“Come on,” Keenan said bitterly, tearing himself away. “Into the Keep. Now.” He hurried in, calling to the walls, where soldiers were pouring back down. “Everyone inside!” 

They raced the darkspawn in as some of the Children scaled the walls. These were larger, with eight legs instead of the four, and fast. They barely made it in time as Sergeant Maverlies brought down the final portcullis. Clawed and hooked arms reached through the bars, but could not get through. There. That was all they had. Their final defense.

From there on out, it was simply a matter of time. Keenan grimaced, turning away, his eyes fixing on Sergeant Maverlies.

“Get everyone into the hall,” he said in a cold voice. “Everyone. It’s time for a final stand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES:
> 
> Ar tu na’din! Ar tu na’lin emma mi! Ma halam!” - I will kill you! I will see your blood on my blade! You are finished!


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keenan enacts a desperate plan; Fergus and Alistair arrive at the Vigil; Eideann, Nathaniel, Sigrun, and Anders reach Drake's Fall; Alistair and Fergus learn Eideann's next moves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence, some gore
> 
> Comments always welcome.

“We don’t have a choice.”

“If we go out there now, we will die.”

“If we don’t, we will die. We’re out of time.”

“I’m not ready for this.”

“You have to be, Rolan. We need you.” 

“And our deal?” There was a vial in his pocket filled with the potent mix of darkspawn blood, archdemon blood, and lyrium, ready for Rolan should it be necessary. Keenan had ordered that rather than the chalice, so they might take it with them.

“Dealt with,” Keenan replied grimly. At his side, Lucan was licking a couple of deep scratches he had gotten across his side from a battle with one of the Children. Keenan carefully set a hand on the back of the dog’s neck, and Lucan turned to lick at his fingers quietly. A reassurance. How desperately close he had gotten to that mabari over the last month or so. The dog could not come with them this time.

Rolan, a reedy man with a nasally voice who looked ill-equipped in Warden gear, made a face.

“Then what is the plan?” he finally asked. He hardly seemed like a Templar. He was grim-faced, a little cowardly, like he was used to being ignored. Keenan had always thought of the Templars standing bravely with the flaming sword on their chest with the Chantry sunburst on shields and swords at the ready. He might even have called them intimidating before. This man…he hid, and he tried to evade. He was a spy, not a soldier. It made Keenan nervous that the Templars had spies at all.

“There is a side door out onto the battlements,” he said with a grimace. “We will take that entrance, and lower ourselves down behind the darkspawn line. Velanna and Sergeant Maverlies will cause a distraction at the barbican. Our party will push deep behind their lines and find their General.” Rolan was not convinced.

“You don’t know where he is?” he said flatly. “I thought Wardens could sense the darkspawn.” 

“Not the Awakened ones,” Keenan said darkly, turning his face away towards the Silver Knights that were preparing to go with them. They were good men who had dedicated their lives to this cause. Keenan walked between them a moment, leaving Rolan to play with the buckles of his borrowed armor. Keenan went from man to man, or woman as it were, looking each in the eye and promising them their chance at the chalice should it become necessary. He would not withhold the opportunity from them when Rolan had demanded it. Each gave him a grim nod, their eyes cool and quiet. They were ready. They were prepared. 

Each and every one of them had battled the darkspawn under Queen Eideann and King Alistair in Denerim when the Archdemon fell. They were the remnants of the force left to the Vigil from the King’s own guard. They were there to defend the realm. Keenan gave each a soldier’s bow, told them it was an honor to stand beside them – it was after the fight they had put up so far – and then turned to the door.

Velanna was waiting, a handful of archers with her, and Sergeant Maverlies at her side. They stood some distance back from the portcullis, which still held, Maker be blessed. Beyond, the Children were scrabbling to get through, and darkspawn were snarling and grunting as they roamed the courtyard. And somewhere beyond all that was the emissary General. 

Keenan led the way up the steps to the battlements high above them, and what they saw below was a flood of darkspawn so large that they would be lucky if they could get through at all.

Keenan crouched at the ledge, narrowing his eyes, and then drew a deep breath. 

“We will go down the far side and circle along the rooftops there,” he said, pointing to the line of small buildings that housed the Vigil’s staff, fieldhands, and merchants.

“Is the General anywhere?” one of the soldiers asked him. Keenan peered into the horde milling about below, his look severe. He could not sense Awakened darkspawn, and with so many about he could not really tell how many there were anyway. Instead he had to go by sight. Their experiences with the Awakened darkspawn had given him something to go off at least. He scanned the twisted maws and rotted faces until he found the black markings on the face of one, clad in a red cloak, a staff with the darkspawn crescent moon on his back. Keenan narrowed his gaze and then looked back to the soldier with cool eyes. 

“Red cloak with the staff.” There were other darkspawn in red cloaks, but none that were emissaries. All of the red cloaked ones appeared to be Awakened however. “The others in the red are the strategists. Be careful of them once we’re on the ground. Those and the Children.” He looked back towards the General and shook his head. It was barking instructions in some guttural perversion of their language, but was too far away to hear. “As soon as Velanna – “ He drew up short as there was an explosion at the gate and the darkspawn screeched, swarming up towards the portcullis. “Alright,” he said, rising and hurrying along the roof. “Time to go.” At least she was efficient. He would give her that.

They slipped across the battlements, covered by the darkness of the depths of night, and down over the wooden shingles of the roof, making their way towards the exterior walls. Several of the soldiers hurriedly lowered ropes down the side of the keep towards the rooftops. Keenan found it a test of strength to work his way down them. At least it was not requiring him to use his aching legs. He went first, wary of darkspawn that may be below, and then landed softly on the thatched roofing of the nearest house, wincing at the awkward landing but ducking out of sight. Nearer the main gate, some of the rooves were alight with fire. This would be a death mission whether they succeeded or not. By the time their work was done, there was no way they could climb back up. They would be overrun in the courtyard by the darkspawn. The creatures did not need a General to decide to kill living beings. 

Keenan kept those thoughts to himself. Velanna and the archers were at the gate with their remaining forces, waiting to rush out and turn on the darkspawn if they should break from the final gate to come after Keenan’s party. There was hope yet. 

He glanced towards the fallen stone towers, catching sight of the mangled body of his companion, Kristoff, in the distance. He gritted his teeth. The body yet moved. The spirit that had possessed it yet lived, though trapped. 

Maker, the thought made Keenan sick. If Rolan made it through this, he would have the man exorcise the creature too. Aura deserved the chance to bury her husband in peace. 

His soldiers shuffled across the thatched rooftops, leaping from house to house before they reached the far end and could climb down a number of crates stacked high against the wall of the house. There were only a handful of them. Keenan waited at the bottom as Rolan slipped down beside them. The Templar looked anything less than pleased.

“This is a deathtrap,” he muttered to Keenan before stalking off behind some of the Silver Knights. Together they climbed the ramparts of the courtyard curtain wall, and once again lowered ropes to slip down the other side. The darkspawn clustered about the gate, attracted by fire and earth. Velanna was dragging roots up through the earth again and doing a sizeable amount of damage. 

And then they were there, just above the darkspawn where those that were not harrying the gate were gathered on the bloodied fields below. Keenan carefully dropped down, and the nearest hurlock whipped about, giving a loud roar. 

The attack began. 

Three of the Silver Knights were felled before they even reached the ground. Two more dropped beside him, drawing silverite swords. Keenan nocked a bolt to his crossbow and fired.

And then the battle was on. The darkspawn converged on them from across the field, unearthly grunts and roars. Keenan wished he could have brought Lucan, but the dog was no use on ropes. 

Rolan dropped down beside him, ripping a pair of daggers from his belt and giving Keenan a glare.

“If they get me – ” he warned bitterly, but then charged, and Keenan at last saw a bit of the Templar grace and training, albeit the darker side of the Templars, those that traversed the darkness and hunted out in the world for those guilty of magical malpractice. This was no honorable sword and shield. Rolan was the sort of Templar that made people frightened to been on the street when a man in Chantry armor walked by. It did not sit well with Keenan to think on it.

But Rolan was also the man he needed in that moment, the only one with the training to match a darkspawn emissary with the strategic mind and spellcrafting capability of an equivalent human or elven mage. It was a desperate hope. And the only one they had.

One of the children swarmed, and Keenan cast aside his crossbow, good as it was, for something more fitting in close quarters. He did not have the strength for his broadsword anymore, but a single longsword was still doable in a pinch. Every part of his body protested, from his aching legs to his atrophied arm muscles. But he had no other option.

He swung the sword, cutting through one of the hurlocks that raced towards them.

“Rolan! Go!” 

The man disappeared, weaving through the darkspawn like a snake in the grasses. The Children closed in on them, hooked claws slicing through another of the Silver Knights. 

And then there was an explosion, fire and stone, and Keenan was thrown back against the wall by the blast. 

It was the General. How could it not be? Such force, such magic, such anger behind an attack. Some of the Silver Knights struggled to get up. Others had fallen with the impact, battered by the full force of the spell rather than the blast radius. Keenan tried to force himself to his feet, sword gripped tight in his hand.

Rolan stepped forward.

There was something like…a weight. It seemed to shake the very ground, a force that plunged downward through the sky to land squarely on the darkspawn in a thick grey fog. The darkspawn staggered slightly, and Rolan put up his hands again. 

Magic? Was that what it was? Keenan did not know. He stared, finally getting his feet, and then staggered forward.

The darkspawn General roared and swung its staff, the crescent on the end glowing with some dark fire. And then it erupted. Rolan dove clear, only just, and the fire burst on the castle curtain wall behind him. The Templar pushed himself up, calling down another smite.

This time the General walked right through, like it were merely smoke.

Rolan paled, took a step back. And that was when Keenan knew they were lost.

The darkspawn closed the distance, putting out its arm, and Rolan swung his knives. They connected with extended fingers, took of two on the path through, hacking at the hand that reached towards him. The darkspawn roared as its blood spluttered forth, and Rolan recoiled as it splattered across his face and tunic. The emissary, mask of rage and pain, thrust forward, gripping the man by the neck.

And then Keenan hurried up. Even if it was Rolan, he was a Warden. He could not let the man die. 

He swung with all his might for the darkspawn, who wheeled about and caught him with his staff. The crescent shape was a sharp blade, and it pierced through silverite like it were nothing. Keenan felt the jagged edge sink into his flesh and gave a cry.

And then the Emissary General pulled back, letting him fall bleeding to his knees, and it dropped Rolan, who collapsed in a heap, twitching and convulsing. A single glance told Keenan all he needed to know. Black tendrils spidered through his flesh, the remnants of the taint. It was almost too late.

The General sneered down on him.

“The Herald he is not faltering,” it said, and then turned to its forces. “Be bringing down the gate!” 

Keenan gave a gasp, watching the creature turn, and tried to rise to face it again, but he was dizzy, his blood sticky under his fingers, and his chest a lance of pain. 

He dragged himself to Rolan’s side and dug forth the vial to save him.

“Join us,” he gasped, “in the duty…that cannot be forsworn.” And then pulled the cork free and tipped it down the man’s throat. Rolan convulsed again, eyes going wide, and then went very still. The General turned back to him as its forces besieged Velanna at the gate. There was no more magical energy above. Either Velanna had run clean out of energy, or else she had fallen. Keenan grimaced, glaring hate at the creature. It crossed to stand over him, lowering the blade of its staff to his neck.

“It is being foolish. The Grey Warden has lost. The Mother, she is being pleased.”

“Go fuck your Mother,” Keenan hissed.

The darkspawn drew back its staff, extended its hand with only three remaining fingers, and a flickering light began to glow in its palm. Keenan stared at it wearily.

And in the distance was the sound of horns.

_Horns?_

The General looked up then, and Keenan stared as a sound like thunder echoed down through the keep. Hooves, a hundred or more. In the distance, over the Vigil, the dim light of morning began to glow.

And then the force of a smite slammed down on him so hard, his vision blanked, and he hunched over to deal with the sensation of it. The General screamed, forced to the earth. Keenan glanced back to Rolan, confused, but he still lay transfixed on the ground. He was not the source.

Horses thundered into the square, blue and silver armor, or red and gold, or silverite on their flanks and necks. Riders in red and gold and silver and blue charged the line, cutting through the darkspawn in the fields behind the curtain wall and riding through. Archers on horseback – northmen from the Waking Sea by their uniform and their weapons – thundered through, firing into the crowds up at the main gate. Keenan stared, transfixed, and then the General before him stirred, giving a guttural hiss.

There was the sound of hoofbeats coming to a stop, and then armor shifting. Through the haze of fog, Keenan saw a man dismount nearby, Warden armor like the Commander’s dull in the grey light of dawn. And then the sun crested over the top of the Vigil, flooding the courtyard with light, and a great golden glow hit the man full on through the smoke and fog of the smite. On one arm was a griffon shield, and in the other a sword in the style of the Orlesian Wardens.

The man’s amber eyes glinted like molten gold. He stepped towards the General, and another smite came down, battering through the darkspawn Emissary and driving the magic from it, even as it drove the air from Keenan. He lay, gasping for breath, as the Warden closed in on the General, and then swung his sword up and about. The General, on the ground before him, looked up.

“This is being - !” Whatever else it was being, Keenan never found out. The Warden ran the beast through with his sword without a word. The General gave a strangled noise, bitter and broken, and the man shoved it from his blade with his shield. 

And then, finally, he looked to Keenan. There was a gentle look in his eyes when they landed on him. His hair was tinted deep bronze in the sunlight. He carefully lowered his sword and turned towards him.

Keenan gave a soft laugh of relief.

“Maker’s blood,” he gasped. “Your Majesty. I thought you would not come.” King Alistair knelt before him, putting them on equal footing.

“I see there’s no need to introduce myself. You must be the Warden Keenan that Eideann mentioned? Are you alright?” Keenan glanced back to Rolan, then gave a quiet nod.

“I’ll live, Constable,” he said softly. Warden titles here. The King immediately gave him a warm nod, rising.

“Captain!” Keenan glanced up and caught sight of Captain Garavel, filthy from fighting, coming towards them. “Stay with him. Just in case,” the King said, and then glanced to his other fellows, two men with severe expressions, the first armed with a Redcliffe shield, the second with a bow carved with bears. Keenan considered them, and the archer looked down on him with quiet eyes that made him suddenly think very much of the Warden-Commander’s evaluating gaze. He gave a small shudder. “Let’s route these creatures,” the King said, and the archer gave a grim nod. 

“Indeed.” 

***

In the south, there was a column of smoke, and it had turned the dawn red and hazy. Eideann glanced over her shoulder as the sun came up, feeling her heart sink.

“Fire,” Anders called. “The Vigil?” He rode hard beside her. Eideann, Sigrun grasping her tight about the waist, shook her head in anger, pushing the feelings of loss and despair away. There was no time. They had to hold. A fire did not mean all was lost. A fire – 

_What is even there to burn? Only the thatch,_ she told herself. _The thatch, the fields, the inn, the forge, and everything and everyone within. Maker, protect them._ She spurred her horse onward, racing forward now light was making the way clear. She felt rather than saw Nathaniel’s presence as he galloped up beside her.

“It’s lost then?!” he shouted to her, the wind snatching at his words. Eideann glanced to him, then focused her eyes forward, leaning down lower along Zev’s neck. 

“We cannot turn back!” she told him over the loudly and then wheeled the horse off towards the western ridge, where the bone-white structures of ancient Tevinter rose like shards of death over the hills of the Fereval Plains. She was tired. They had stopped briefly to rest only long enough that they might get their feet back, but every moment they delayed, more died to hold the darkspawn back, and the Mother could make a countermove. Eideann was not going to allow that to happen. 

There, ahead, was Drake’s Fall, ancient graveyard of dragons, where their bones littered the earth. Here was where great beasts came to die. Fitting she might get the chance to end the Mother there. 

She knew Tevinter had brought their towers to the land, crafted staffs and riches from the dragonbone that lay in the area. She knew as well it would attract the sort of folk she had encountered at Haven – those Reavers that worshipped the dragons by drinking of their blood and nurturing their young. She presumed at the moment that any Reavers that may have been drawn to the place had been expelled or massacred by the darkspawn. She was uncertain how many darkspawn to even expect. 

But she could sense them, in the depths ahead, in the blasted lands where the fertile plains suddenly gave way to valleys of basalt and finely ground shale sands. The earth began to turn softer beneath the horses’ hooves as they grew nearer. There, the snows had fallen only lightly, and had turned the ground muddy instead of catching in banks of gentle white. Even the ground seemed black and ominous here. 

Eideann slowed Zev enough to ensure the creature would not founder, then glanced back to Anders and Nathaniel. 

“Be prepared for anything,” she said as she led Zev up the path towards the massive Tevinter statues that marked the beginning of Drake’s Fall. In the distance, twoers with arched crenellations soared into the distance, shining in the dawn’s light. It made her think of Ostagar, bright with fire and nightmares. Eideann repressed a shudder and dismounted. “From here we go on foot.” There was no telling what lay ahead.

The dragon bones were massive, towering over them in between the citadels long since abandoned. Skulls with gaping maws and eyes that seemed to stare into the abyss watched them from atop the sandy cliffs. Eideann drew King’s Justice and Duty, feeling the first humming in her hand like it was eager for blood in the land of fallen dragons, the second whispering in her heart the mantra of the Couslands that had kept her going for so long. 

The sands and cracked earth gave way a little beneath her feet as she made her way through the bones half buried by time in the wastes. Above, the sky seemed cloudy, smoggy, like the dying dragon’s breath yet lingered. She stepped carefully through the bits of bone and gravel and then paused a moment, closing her eyes, feeling. 

There. Ahead. She could sense it.

“Darkspawn,” she heard Nathaniel say quietly and glanced to him with a nod. 

“You can sense them as well then,” Anders added softly. Nathaniel gave him a quiet glance.

“And you,” he confirmed. There was something gentle, sad in that. Eideann recognized it. She knew the oddity that was sensing the presence of Wardens, and in particular Alistair. Sometimes, when she had lain in his arms in the months before the Blight, she had caught herself considering the taint that lay upon them both, at once thankful for the ability to know when he was there, and angry that such a twisting thing might touch the love between them in any way. 

She did not feel so angry at it anymore. It was what it was. Eventually, they would both be lost to it. For the moment, it was a connection. Nathaniel and Anders could work through that themselves. It was not the sort of thing that might be told or explained away, only experienced and settled within themselves.

Anders wet his lips and reached for his staff.

“Then we kill them,” he said, “and any we can’t sense. And we hope that they don’t take us with them.” That, at least was a plan.

The darkspawn in the area were fighting one another. The ones they could sense were battling off Children that scuttled about on their tiny legs. These were the grubs, not the frightening spidery creatures. At least not here on the surface so far from the armies the Mother had sent. 

Eideann let them kill one another, as she had done in Kal’Hirol. It simply confirmed one final thing to her, in case she had had any doubts: the Architect was here as well, somewhere in those ruins.

She thought to the book she and Sigrun had read, of Darkspawn emissaries arguing over the Black City, and felt a little sick. If it was true…if it had been as the account detailed…if the Architect was one of them…

She shuddered and pushed the thought away.

_You’re nervous because these are Tevinter ruins, and nothing good happens in Tevinter ruins,_ she thought irritably. And then she distracted herself by cutting a path through the Children that remained.

The Children had won, of course. A genlock could not beat one of those grubs. They had only one impulse – to feed – and they preferred the darkspawn to anything else. 

But letting them feed made them grow from grubs into the next stage of their larval development. They did so rapidly, sprouting legs, the four at first, and as they fed more, then the other four as well. Eideann grimaced and hacked through them as quickly as she could. To mutate so quickly…

The broodmothers were fed on the tainted flesh of ghouls. It was this that somehow led to the creation of the darkspawn. It made sense this would also be how darkspawn grubs might grow and change. It had taken Laryn ten days to become a broodmother after her capture. Eideann wanted to forget many things about Bownammar and the Deep Roads, including Hespith’s haunting poem, but that at least she needed to remember. Darkspawn reproduced quickly. They were racing against the clock. 

Sigrun was at her side, ever faithful and capable. She had been at Bownammar as well. She had faced broodmothers, knew she might become one someday if she were captured in the Deep Roads rather than killed. Sigrun was brave and strong and capable. 

Eideann and Sigrun finished the last of the Children together, and then exchanged a glance. Eideann gave a nod, and Sigrun gave a small smile.

“Let’s finish this,” she said in her optimistic voice. 

“The Mother is further in, below the ground,” Eideann said softly. “Be very careful.” 

As they moved she noticed that the darkspawn kept their distance from the dragon bones as much as they were able. She considered King’s Justice in her hand, the runes along its blade glittering in the dawn light, and wondered a moment. Perhaps there was more to it than the enchantments at work. Perhaps it was dragons themselves that deterred the darkspawn? It would explain why this nest had not been active before the Blight. It would not explain why darkspawn sought the Old Gods in the depths, since they truly were dragons. 

She filed the thoughts away for later, something else to muse over when all of this was finished. Instead, she focused up ahead, and that was when she heard it.

The beating of wings.

_What was it that Sten called them? Ataashi?_ She swallowed hard. She had faced a dragon before – Flemeth, and avoided fighting the one at Haven because it was adequate protection. 

Thinking of the dragon at Haven made her wonder instead about Leliana and her expedition. Surely by now they had gotten their Chantry approval? 

She forced herself to focus. The only other dragon she had faced was Urthemiel itself. She had killed that one. 

“There is a dragon up ahead,” she said to the others then, drawing a deep breath. “Anders, keep well back. Healing and ice, that’s all I want you to do. Nathaniel, keep moving, don’t let it get a location on you, and aim for the eyes. They’re vulnerable. Sigrun…” She glanced to the dwarf. “If you can get a grasp on it, try to hit it at the back of the head or inside the mouth. I don’t recommend attempting the latter unless you’re really given no other choice.” Sigrun grinned, shaking her head.

“Don’t get eaten. Check.” 

“Or burned alive,” Eideann added somberly. It was not really a time for jokes. They needed to get past the dragon any way they could or else Amaranthine would remain under siege.

She thought of the Vigil, smoking in the south, and grimaced. 

Her message had not reached Alistair and Fergus. They were on their own. 

That brought her a level of despair she had not felt in a long time. She tried to fight it off, but instead she felt it swallowing her whole.

“Then we face the dragon,” Sigrun said simply, giving her a quiet look. “And hope we do not die.” 

Eideann drew a wavering breath, giving a soft nod. 

_Be brave,_ she thought. _They need you to be brave now._ Another part of her was screaming, desperate not to do this again. _Last time, last time,_ it protested.

_No,_ Eideann thought abruptly, spinning her swords in her hands into better positions, _I will not regret making the choice I did, no matter how much it hurt. I made the choice to save thousands upon thousands of other people. And that is a choice I would make a thousand times over if need be._ She silenced the doubts by taking a step forward. It was, after all, just a normal dragon.

She expected to feel the pull of Nothingness, the Void when it finally caught sight of them. She expected to feel like her soul was being drained away. But instead the air smelled of smoke and fire, and shimmered with heat as it roared. Dragons that breathed fire were an oddity along the Storm Coast. She took it as a sign that it had fled here, perhaps to die. Given some of the bones in the graveyard were yet intact, it seemed probable that dragons still chose to fall here there in the basalt sands, even after so many years of absence. Perhaps they had slept through those years? Eideann did not know. 

Emboldened by the sense of wholeness and the shining light of dawn, she drove forward, Sigrun at her side, and the dragon in the clearing before the massive Tevinter spire gave an earpiercing roar. 

_You cannot beat me,_ she thought with a smile. _I am the Knight of Dawn._

Silverite met dragonbone in a class of wills. Sigrun slid down through the sand under the creature’s belly to swing at the weaker tendons on the inside of its legs. Eideann saw the dragon spin and chose to keep moving. She had to. To stop was to die.

She was beginning to feel the burn of it, too many months of fighting and running, too many weeks of riding. She pushed through the burn of muscles aching from the last day or so of battles, forced herself to focus. To lose that focus now would cost her her life. 

The dragon was larger than Flemeth had been, but it was smaller than Urthemiel, and its scales did not end in quite so many spikes. Better yet, both of those dragons had been capable of thought. This creature was the average sort, simply angry at being disturbing and thinking they or the darkspawn were intruding on its territory, and possibly may make a good meal regardless.

The fact it did not think was a blessing. She was sick of fighting strategizing enemies. Flemeth had been diligent in her attempts to kill them all. Urthemiel had summoned its horde back to its defense in Denerim. But this dragon had nothing but the call of its own voice that echoed through the bones of its dead fellows. 

And that was its undoing.

Sigrun hacked at its foreleg, drawing blood and its attention, and the beast whirled. Eideann took the chance. She cast aside Duty in favor of the dragonbone of King’s Justice and caught a handhold on the scales above the creature’s shoulders. And then she crawled up. The dragon tossed and swung about, trying to throw her free, but she was determined to end it there and then, determined to see it done. 

She gritted her teeth and hauled herself up, and then wrapped her legs tight about the beast’s neck, feeling the scales cut into the leather leggings of her Warden uniform. She winced at the pain, gave a sharp cry as it tried to hurl her off again, and then brought King’s Justice down as hard as she could.

It struck home, sheering through dragon scale and through the sinew of its neck. Eideann felt the gush of hot blood that coated her arms and hands and face. She squinted through it, panic rising, and swung the sword again. 

She felt it jar her arm as it clashed with bone, but kept going, unable to stop.

And then she was through, the dragon came crashing down into the ground, its neck nearly cut half through, and Eideann went flying across the sand to land in a heap in her armor. She immediately struggled for breath, which was hard enough because the landing had winded her. And once she had managed to recover enough for that, she turned over and spat the taste from her mouth of dragon blood. Being a Warden was more than enough. She did not need to be a Reaver too. 

She stayed there a moment, on hands and knees, bending over the sand, panting. 

And then she felt a wash of cool healing over her, and she looked up to Anders crouching over her, reaching for her hand. She had not even realized she had hurt it, but it had been cut on the dragon’s scales as she tried to climb it. Sigrun approached them, likewise covered in blood though not nearly as much as Eideann, giving a low whistle as she considered the fallen beast.

“That how you did in the Archdemon then?” she asked with a smirk. Eideann just gave a quiet sigh, then bent her head again.

“I will be happy if I never see another dragon again,” she breathed. Nathaniel bent beside Anders, and the mage carefully checked her hand. It was her left, the one opposite the scar from the Architect that she shared with Nathaniel. Eideann held it out to the mage, who worked to bind it, then considered her.

She would have some nasty chafing to deal from the scales at her thighs, but otherwise she was mostly just dealing with the shock. She carefully pulled her hand away. Time was wasting. And she forced herself up to her feet. Sigrun held out Duty to her, collected from where she had cast it aside.

She took it back, feeling its heavy weight, and sighed. Duty was a heavy burden, but sometimes it was the right choice to cast it aside to be more effective. She considered the symbolism of what she had done and then gave a small shake of her head.

“There,” she said, pointing with the sword blade to the citadel before them. “That is out way in.” Anders pushed himself up, brushing sand from his tunic and then reaching for his staff grimly.

“Then we shouldn’t waste time,” he said softly. “People are paying a heavy price while we stand here.” Nathaniel gave a nod as well, his eyes clouded and piercing. 

“To the end then,” he replied softly. “Come what may.”

Come what may indeed.

***

_Under lyrium stars…_

Alistair sat in the green chambers where he had last seen her, peering at the wilting rose in its small vase beside the bed, his elbows on his knees.

She was not there.

He was glad in a way. It meant she had not been lost at the Vigil. But it was worse when he had learned where she was: Amaranthine itself with only a handful of men to fight another darkspawn incursion. Maker, he prayed she was alive.

The moment Fergus had learned, he had sent riders northward, a full contingent of men to secure the city under one of his most senior commanders. Alistair had let him. He was the Teyrn of Highever, after all, and Amaranthine was still sworn to the Teyrnir, regardless of the recent history that had torn a rift between the ruling families. With riders dispatched, it simply became a waiting game.

It had been Teagan who had convinced him to stay put himself. The Vigil Seneschal was dead. Two of its Wardens were badly hurt, one exhausted, and another freshly minted in the middle of battle. Captain Garavel commanded the respect of the soldiers, but he did not have the charisma or the gentility required to lend strength to refugees. The woman who might have taken charge in his stead, Mistress Woolsey sent from the Anderfels to manage the finances of the Keep, was overwhelmed with petitioners desperate for any news or assistance, and she was a foreigner. 

No, for the day, at least, he had to stay put until the word came back from the City. He just had to trust in Eideann’s ability to manage a battle. And she had managed so far. She had won Bownammar on guile and bravado alone. She had taken Denerim back from the darkspawn – albeit with heavy losses – just to kill an Archdemon. Better, Sigrun was with her, the dwarven Legionnaire that they had met in the Deep Roads. Eideann and a mere three scouts, plus Shale had survived Cadash Thaig alone.

He tried to keep his nerves in check then, tried to make himself be calm. He wandered the Vigil, spoke with the hurting.

He found Felsi, the dwarf from Redcliffe that had been sweet on Oghren for awhile, bent over the bed of Oghren himself, peering wearily into space like everything was just a bit too much. She gave him a simple hello, told him she was going to be the innkeeper there at the Vigil, and then promptly burst into tears on him, frightened and uncertain and a thousand different types of worried.

He found a few familiar faces among the ranks, soldiers he had left to help hold the fort, and they greeted him with the severity of men and women who had seen too much.

Teagan was leading sorties into the field with a few of the remaining royal soldiers to chase down any of the remaining darkspawn. Teagan had survived Denerim, as had all those with him, and would not be going in unprepared.

But the waiting…the waiting made him nervous.

It apparently made Fergus equally nervous, because he was forcing himself to stay busy by insisting on going through every last detail with Warden – Warden-Lieutenant, even, at Eideann’s discretion – Keenan’s story, and he would not stop petting the dog, Lucan, that apparently belonged to the man.

Angus, for what it was worth, followed Alistair unceasingly, a bit bloodied from the fighting but generally happy. Perhaps he could sense Alistair’s nervousness though, because occasionally he would pause, bump his head into Alistair’s hand, and give a low whine. It was like he knew that Eideann should be there, but was not, and he was waiting to find out more as well.

There was another matter as well, that of the Spirit of Justice that had been trapped beneath the tower. Keenan had filled him in on those details, and Alistair had gone immediately down to make use of whatever Templar skills he may have that could help. 

He had left his men in the keep for that, done it entirely alone, with only Angus at his side. 

He had spent an hour trying to come to terms with the fact he was in conversation with a Spirit at all, and during that hour had learned far more than his fair share about the spirit itself. He could not send it back into the Fade. He did not know how – he had never been a true Templar, despite his strength in putting their skills to good use. He could not even help it escape the tower under which it was trapped. The blocks were too heavy. They would need a mage to move it. The only one around now was a Dalish elf who had taken a good deal of abuse while trying to guard the gates prior to their arrival. She was currently in the makeshift hospital within the Main Hall, and would not be able to assist for some time. 

Even with that, Alistair did not know quite what to do. The body the spirit inhabited, Warden Kristoff he had been told, was broken beyond mending. The flesh was rotting away, too many weeks dead, only lasting this long because of the snows that had covered Amaranthine recently. The fall of the tower had shattered the spine of the body, and the Spirit could no more move now than escape. 

It did not seem terribly upset at the predicament either, which made Alistair incredibly uncomfortable. Of all the strange things he had witnessed, that was certainly high on his list along with creepy blood rituals, werewolves, and dwarven ghosts in the Deep Roads.

Unable to assist in any way – the Spirit or the people unnerved by the Spirit – he had retired to Eideann’s chambers to wait for further news. That was how he had ended up sitting in the chair, staring at the rose he had given her in silence. 

She still was not there.

But she was somewhere. And he would find her. He just needed to wait long enough for the scouts to report in. 

The room held traces of her. He did not mean her belongings, though there were enough things in the chamber that were clearly hers. He did not recognized the gown draped over the back of the chair, because he had hardly ever seen her in gowns – Redcliffe, the coronation, the Landsmeet. The jewels sitting on the sideboard like they were newly polished were hers too, though again something he had never seen. No, he meant more primal things: a strand of hair left on the pillow the way the pillows on the seat beside him held the imprint of her form, her writing on a half-finished letter to Arl Eamon, checking in at Denerim, in her thin, delicate, noble hand – even in the middle of everything, she was trying to stay on top of it all. 

He settled back into the chair, tipping his head back, and gave a heavy sigh. It was a knock that disturbed him, and it took him a moment to even place the sound. And then suddenly he was on his feet, hurrying to get the door. He caught the handle, wrought iron, and hauled it open. There in the door, Fergus Cousland, a grim look on his face.

“Alistair,” he said, hand on his sword’s pommel at his waist. “We’ve heard news.” Alistair hurriedly reached for his own belt and scabbard, buckling it on about him and then adjusted his shield.

“Where is she?” he insisted as he hurriedly finished his preparations and turned for the hall. Fergus made space as he emerged from the chambers, turning with a fluid grace down the corridor to pick a determined stride. 

“Drake’s Fall. She’s gone after the Mother.” Alistair gave a low hiss, shaking his head. 

“Of course she has.” He took the final turning into the Great Hall where Captain Garavel was standing with Bann Teagan and a few of the Silver Knights. “Ready my horse,” Alistair called, a little surprised at the authority in his voice, “and any Warden that is still on their feet. We ride for Drake’s Fall.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann, Anders, Nathaniel, and Sigrun fight their way through Drake's Fall to confront the Mother and the Architect at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence, Gore
> 
> Comments always welcome :) Thanks lovely readers! <3 Next chapter coming soon!

The interior of Drake’s Fall was a chasm of Tevinter marble, bridges crisscrossing the chasm that dropped down into the depths of the earth. Eideann felt a distinctly uncomfortable feeling as they made their way from the door towards the first bridge. Behind her, Sigrun was looking around grimly.

“It looks like Bownammar,” she said, putting words to both their fears. It did not bring Eideann any comfort. The last time she had encountered darkspawn and a dragon in an underground chasm, and faced a Broodmother on the other side, it had shaken her entire being. She did not have an urge to repeat the experience. 

Anders was quietly considering the arched Tevinter towers built into the stone, cradled in the deep depths, lit by fire. Torches glowed, darkspawn fires perhaps, and flickered in the deep. Crumbling structures groaned across the distance. Buried into the walls all about them were more of the dragon bones.

There was a power to the place, a sinister darkness from the darkspawn, but something older, more powerful. She could feel it as she walked the Tevinter tiles, stirring in the depths of her mind and her heart. It made her feel like a heavy weight had settled over her. 

She had felt something similar in the ancient elven ruins, and it put her a little on edge. She forced herself to focus, to push the feeling away. There was no time to be distracted here.

The towers were lined with more of the strange cacoons, proof they were in the right place. There were darkspawn roaming the depths below. She could feel a few, and smell the rest. And somewhere, far beneath them, at the bottom of the crevasse was the Mother herself. Who knew where the Architect was? Eideann was sure he would show his face. After all, whatever his experiments were, it involved her and her Wardens now. The darkspawn messenger from Amaranthine had said as much. The Mother wanted the Grey Wardens dead because the Architect needed the Grey Wardens for his plans. Eideann was not going to let either of them win.

She felt the leather of her gauntlets along her fingers. Her hands were sweating. She forced herself to breathe, to keep her cool. She had faced worse. 

She grimaced.

“There are darkspawn ahead,” Nathaniel said softly, and Eideann gave a quiet nod, hearing the creak of his bowstring as he readied a shot. 

Drake’s Fall was deep enough that every tower that crisscrossed the chasm housed a wide set of spiral stairs. Darkspawn bonfires burned smoky and thick in the centers, the scent of roasted flesh making Eideann wrinkle her nose. The darkspawn did not cook, and it was no timber that fed their flames now. 

Their totems twisted up from the chambers, the crescents and the jagged edges making her distinctly uncomfortable. It did not take the beasts long to realize they were there. A number of hurlocks set upon them, an Alpha at their head, the moment they reached the top of the steps, and Eideann was forced to dodge a wicked arrow from below as a genlock archer fired up towards them with a grunt. 

But they were the regular darkspawn, drawn to the Mother and her kith in the absence of an Archdemon. They died like all darkspawn died, and they did not think like the Awakened creatures. Eideann kicked the Alpha from the stairs, swung her blade for the next to approach, and fought her way from the top landing down to the last couple of steps before things got dicey. 

An Awakened emissary controlled the field there. Eideann had to haul Sigrun back up a few steps, just in time, as fire exploded through the ranks and nearly hit them as well. 

And then the chamber flooded with a blizzard of ice, and Eideann glanced up to see Anders on the steps hammering the emissary with everything he had. A battle of wills it became then, Anders and his ice versus the emissary and his fire, and both so wreathed in magic it was impossible to get close. Not for the first time, Eideann wished she had a Templar with herr, but there was no helping it. 

And then Anders pushed through, spikes of ice hammering home, spearing through the emissary and silencing all its spells as he pierced its heart. The creature fell down, transfixed, and Eideann glanced to Anders, who gave her a quiet nod. 

“Commander,” he said quietly. Eideann nodded back, and descended the steps.

That was where they ran into the filth that carpeted the floors of places where Broodmothers collected. It stretched across the marble, coating it with a slippery slime. Eideann thanked the Maker for the thick soles of the Warden standard-issue boots. She let her eyes trace the Tevinter statues, armed figures with imposing stares of cold marble gazing down at them all, twined with filth. 

And then she turned away, picking the next bridge that would lead her down, following her Warden senses towards the darkspawn.

The fleshy pods extended onto the bridge. Eideann gave them a wide berth. They had no fire to ignite the caccoons on the bridges, so they moved carefully, knowing full well that the creatures normally lurking within were probably almost fully grown by now. 

That inclination proved correct sooner than she had hoped, though luckily it was when a group of darkspawn came charging up from the next tower and set the Children off. They became the target, and Eideann, now adept at letting her enemies massacre one another, just took up a defensive position with Sigrun at her side and waited until her enemies were lesser in number. 

A pair of grubs overwhelmed one of the hurlocks on the bridge, and then came creeping towards her with clacking jaws. Eideann speared the first through the head and kicked at the second, sending it skittering across the bridge. Sigrun set upon the creature, hacking it in two with her axes, before rising up again, covered in their blood, and grimacing. Her eyes shone bright in the darkness, eager and wating for death. They walked across the bed of darkspawn mulch and dragon bone to face the next creatures. 

Nathaniel’s arrows took the next one in the heart, which was just as well because the creature was starting to sprout its legs. Eideann was aware of the danger in that. Her breastplate bore the score marks from wicked Children claws. She had no desire to repeat the experience. 

But the bridge was to their benefit. If they could hold their ground, the bridge itself would work for them. The Children had to climb over the sludge left by the Broodmother, and they had to do it uphill. Their legs were small, and when they grew were too spindly to keep them stable. A kick was enough to send them back, a wide sweep to topple them or throw them from the bridge itself and down into the depths. 

“This one was Awakened,” Sigrun said, kicking at the corpse of a hurlock in a blue robe. Eideann considered it, the crescent marked in black on its face, and nodded.

“The Children attacking an Awakened darkspawn. It is not the Mother’s then.” 

“Or it is,” Nathaniel murmured, “and they are moving indiscriminately now.” Eideann shook her head, nudging the corpse with her food. 

“The face. That marking. That’s Architect. Keep your eyes peeled. He’s here.” 

The second tower was much like the first, a twisting spiral staircase to descend lower into the earth, the steps half-covered in filth, the lower landing a cushion of squishy flesh pustules. 

Here the Children lay, dead, their bodies crushed and broken. Eideann considered them carefully, her eyes narrowed, and paused a moment to listen. That was when she felt it, flickering above, the presence of the Blight, sharp and subtle and dangerous. It was not the darkspawn below, and those above they had already killed. She closed her eyes to focus on it. 

_There you are,_ she thought, sliding her eyelids open again and tightening her grip on her sword. She did not look to the other Grey Wardens. Anders and Nathaniel could sense the darkspawn, but not with any sort of accuracy yet, their senses only just starting to blur into focus. The distance was enough that they would meet other darkspawn first. From the shadows then, it appeared it would be. She would hold this secret for the time being. For the moment, it was enough to know they were there in the darkness, watching, waiting. Eideann’s gaze hardened into shards of ice and she raised her chin as she took the next bridge. _Hello, Utha._

That was a reckoning all its own to be had. 

She felt the creeping sensation of being watched and forced herself not to shudder, not to show a sign. Instead she stepped out between the dragon bones and faced down the next of the creatures. 

Children, adults this time, with their eight legs that made her think of the crawlers in Ortan Thaig. She hated spiders. She had said as much to Alistair in the Deep Roads, and before that in the Brecilian Forest. Why was it always giant fucking spider things?! She watched as they wriggled from the caccoons, bursting forth with an unnatural squirm and then rising up, mandibles clacking, to hiss at them. And then she stepped forward, skin crawling, and hacked through the first with all her might, crying out sharply with the effort of the swing. The Children swarmed her, arrows pelted through their hard bodies, and Sigrun cut the legs from beneath another as it drew over her.

Anders’s lightning rippled through them, crackling along the bridge, lances of white-hot fire that left the scent of charred darkspawn flesh that made Eideann gag a little. Sigrun gave a cough beside her, panting, and then drove forward with a Legionnaire battle cry into the next writhing pack.

They came hurtling through the air, diving from the walls and the columns onto the bridge, jaws spread wide, and screeching. And then the thundering footfalls of an ogre shook the bridge as another of the Armored creatures rose up on the bridge. Eideann backed up hurriedly, screaming for her people to get back, as the ogre charged. 

She barely got clear in time. The Children swarmed her, tearing at her armor, her flesh, her hair, sharp teeth bared, darkspawn jaws and the stench of death and the Blight from their maws. Eideann shrieked, kicking, and doing her best to get her sword up, either one, whichever. 

Sigrun hit the ground beside her, screaming, and lightning crackled through the Children above them. Eideann felt it shoot through her, seeking a way to ground to the earth, and she cried out in pain, vision blinking wih stars and pain, and then led still. The Children though, were dead, or dying, and collapsed, twitching, atop Eideann and Sigrun where they lay in the darkspawn filth. Sigrun was not moving. Eideann could barely even think to.

And then she had to. They had to. The thundering footsteps shook the bridge again as the ogre came back around, metal armor all spikes and blades and enough to kill her.

 _I cannot die here!_ She shoved the corpse of one of the Children from her, every muscle spasming in pain, and rolled to haul Sigrun from under the other. The dwarf was staring at her blearily, eyes out of focus. Eideann slapped her, hard.

“Get up!” she roared, and Sigrun staggered, then looked to the ogre with a crestfallen look.

“It’s been…fun, Commander,” she grimaced, and then, propping herself on her axe blade, she wobbled to her feet.

The ogre charged.

It was an arrow sinking into the miniscule eyeholes in its helm that forced it back, then another, spearing through the first, and then a third, in the second eyehole. The ogre roared, Eideann forced herself up, and Nathaniel Howe stepped in front of her, bow nocked and aimed again. He let it fly, and this time it sank into the beast’s open jaws, burying itself in the soft flesh of its palate. 

“Anders!” Nathaniel called, and his arrow glowed, a thick and forceful blue. Force magic. Eideann stared, and then watched, as Nathaniel let the final thing fly. 

It was true. Of course it was. Nathaniel Howe was the best ranger she knew. It sank into the ogre’s mouth as it roared its pain and rage, but this time it did not stop as it impacted with tough flesh. It drove through, reinforced by Ander’s magic, ripping back out the other side, piercing the beast’s brain. 

The ogre gave a muted mewl, staggered, and then fell. Nathaniel was on it in moments, kicking its helmet from its head and drawing his short sword to slam down through its face again, a precaution, just to be sure. 

Eideann slipped back into a heap, panting, pain arching through her. 

“Anders,” she gasped as the mage hurried to them. “You’re either the most brilliant mage I know, or the stupidest! We could have died!” 

“But you didn’t,” he said pointedly, giving her a firm look, and sending a wash of healing through her joints which instantly soothed the pain of his attack grounding itself through her. He did the same to Sigrun, who had fallen into Nathaniel’s arms, unable to keep her feet, and the dwarf just gave him a sour look.

“Are you an ally or a liability?” the Legionnaire muttered. Anders just sighed.

“Well, I could have let you both be eaten.” Eideann hung her head a moment, panting softly. Then she shook her head.

“No. At least your way would have been quick,” she finally said, then looked to Nathaniel. He was watching her with quiet concern. She relaxed a little, giving him a nod.

“Nice shooting, Howe,” she told him softly, and he gave a small smile of pride and exasperation. 

“I don’t think I could pull that off twice if I tried,” he replied, reaching down to help her to her feet. Sigrun was back on her own now, capable. Eideann drew a breath.

“We can’t wait,” she said decisively. “Every moment we waste is more lives lost on the surface.” 

“Now or never,” Sigrun agreed. “I can rest when I’m dead.” 

“Don’t be too eager to kick the bucket,” Eideann warned. “I still need your help yet.” Sigrun’s quirky grin was enough to give her the energy to go on, so she rolled her shoulders and flipped Duty about to a better position in her hand.

The next tower was almost engulfed in the darkspawn filth, the passageways belong thick tunnels of mucus and fleshy nodes and blight that tangled into the darkness. Eideann slew the Awakened emissary that was waiting for its chance at her with almost a single hit, jumping from the steps before reaching the bottom to tackle it down and behead it with a single stroke of King’s justice once she had it pinned. Its staff clattered across the stone, the darkspawn crescent. Eideann shuddered.

She was never going to be able to see a crescent moon again without having nightmares. 

And at last she turned towards the tunnel that had once been the final passage down to the base of Drake’s Fall. 

She could smell seawater, and that was disconcerting. She knew they were not far from the coast, but the idea that brine might be soaking the lower levels did not bring her any comfort. She did not know where the other Children might be, or how much control the darkspawn Broodmothers had over their rot. She hoped not much. She looked to the others, and then she drew a deep breath.

“We are not going down there,” Anders said in disbelief. Eideann ignored him, boots slipping on the squelching floor, and carried onward, head ringing with a thousand warnings.

But there were no more darkspawn, or at least, no more real darkspawn.

“There’s something…up above,” Nathaniel said suddenly, and Eideann simply gave a nod.

“I know.” 

“What is it?” Anders asked, and Sigrun looked alarmed.

“I expect we shall found out before too long,” Eideann replied, as the tunnel angled downward into the earth. “For now, we only have one task: reach the bottom of this.” 

Her team grew silent and stoic then, Sigrun grimacing. Anders and Nathaniel had yet to see a broodmother at all, and Eideann was prepared to head off their horror, though her own stomach was churning at the thought of encountering another so soon. How many more would she see in her lifetime? How many more times would she bear witness to the desecration of human, dwarven, elven, or Qunari women at the hands of these creatures? 

She let the anger flood her, because it gave her something to cling to. She let the rage fill her because it drove out all the fear. It left her a simple, dangerous weapon to thrust at the heart of the hive. It left her less than human herself, but she was a Grey Warden, and sometimes the paths she would walk would be in darkness, not in light.

Part of her wanted in those moments to think on the Chant of Light, to take some comfort in words spoken, but there was none to be had. The verses spoke of songs, of the Maker’s glory, but there in the midst of the Mother’s lair, she knew only one song, and nothing was glorious. 

Instead she found herself pondering the distant echoes of the Blightsong, dangerous as it was, and wondering if it was not in its own way a thing of beauty. 

_Beauty can drive even the quietest mind mad. Would they follow the Chant if they heard the tainted song as I do? Would they have any time for their Maker if they realized the true darkness of the corruption he has abandoned them to?_ She did not need faith. She needed answers. Always answers. She needed her own light instead.

The tunnel gaped open at long last, and Eideann did not pause at the entrance, though she took in the vast pillars that held aloft a massive sky. Briny seawater filled the chasm in small tidal pools, and towards the center, on an island, at last she saw the Mother. 

Ah. 

The Mother was a swaying mass of tentacles surrounded by her caccooned Children. Eideann gave a mirthless laugh as she stepped forward, feeling a chill of disgust and rage and certainty flood through her. Eyes that had once been human stared back at her, glinting and wise and knowing, full of centuries of torment. The Children, though, were new, the aftereffect she should have guessed would come. 

There were appendages on the Broodmother’s back, twisting warping black legs, and infected scars that crawled across the woman’s face. Her naked form had too many breasts, corrupted into the creature she was now from a slight frame long ago. Her black hair was slick with slime and grease, plastered to her face and skull and neck and shoulders. And she smiled, beckoning with her human arms that ended in black claws, for them to come forward.

Anders took a step back.

“Eideann,” he said sharply. “She’s a mage.” Eideann had already known. After all, with so many of the darkspawn in general having magic, there had to be a source, and a Broodmother was the logical conclusion. The Awakened darkspawn tapped into the energies of the Fade, linked as they were to it once the Blightsong had been overrun. Those she had met that were all mages all worked for the Mother, so part of her had known perhaps what to expect. 

And looking at her now, Eideann knew why the Children looked as they did. At some point, presumably upon her own Awakening, the Mother had rediscovered her own connection to the Fade. It was that which Anders could sense now, and that which led to their odd appearance. The Mother, eyes burning and cold, was a master of the old hedge mage magics, shifting shape and form, like Flemeth had been, as Morrigan had been. The magic of the Shapeshifters had lived on in the traditions of the Avvar or the Alamarri, safe from the Circles where it had been stamped out. 

Eideann remembered speaking to Morrigan once about shifting forms. The Witch had told her that taking another shape meant understanding all there was to know about a creature. The Mother had tried to take a form that Eideann had seen Morrigan herself take only a few times: a giant spider. But the Mother was no longer human, and if she understood still what it meant to be a giant spider, she no longer understood what it meant to be a human. The madness of the Blightsong gone, she would have been left with nothing, desperation.

This then was the Architect’s experiment working against him. This woman, this mage, presumably Alamarri, had reached for whatever magic she could when thrust back into the silent world, cut off from the Blight and the Hive Mind. She had tried to transform, and only made it half way, only the parts of her that were still human somehow responding. The Children were the offspring she had after her Awakening, disconnected from the Blightsong themselves, and taking on new form because their Mother had become some twisted half-form herself.

Eideann walked between the rows of caccoons that lined the island edge, the massive cavern reeking of brine and Blight and Broodmother, until at last she reached the center of the island. 

The Mother was watching her with eyes that flickered with madness, and she gave a small laugh with a thick and hoarse voice, flexing all her appendages at once as she greeted them.

“Now the pieces fall into place,” the Broodmother said, and Eideann drew a deep breath. Maker, her worse nightmare there before her. How many times had she thought those very words? That was what she might one day become. “The Grey Warden comes, the instrument of the Father.” Eideann did not speak, refused to. Maker, she could not converse with this creature. She needed to make it less human. She needed it to shut up. It did not stop Anders and Nathaniel and Sigrun, however.

“They just get bigger and uglier don’t they?” Anders said, sounding horrified. 

“What is that?” Nathaniel gasped. Sigrun drew a breath, shaking her head, her tattooed face wrinkling.

“By the Ancestors, Broodmothers stink, but I didn’t think it was _this_ bad,” the dwarf muttered. 

“Am I not beautiful?” the Mother cackled, swaying again. Eideann ignored her and took a step back towards her Wardens. She was glad Sigrun had managed to control the situation somewhat with Anders and Nate, because she needed them on guard. The creature before them was watching them with a smirk, but Eideann could feel the blighted Utha drawing nearer now. 

Here then, she realized, only a moment before. Here was where their final confrontation would take place. 

The Mother confirmed it, eyes lighting up as she gazed over their heads towards the tunnel. 

“Oh, and the Father,” the Mother crooned.”He is but a shadow. Oh, how my Children protect me! How they love me!” Eideann felt a flicker of the Blight and chanced a look back. And there at the entrance was the Architect, Utha at his side. 

“I have told you many times, Mother,” the sleepy voice of the Architect said, floating over the chamber, “I am not ‘the Father’. I am simply the Architect.” Eideann felt a wash of fear as she took him in again, really for the first time properly. He wore a towering hat, his eyeless mask fitted over what could almost have been a shapely nose. His shoulders were padded with arching pauldrons of woven leather. His robes were stretched over grey darkspawn flesh. Eideann grimaced. 

Could it really be true, the story in the book from Soldier’s Peak? The Architect…one of those darkspawn Kings? The Black City…how did it all fit in? She shuddered to think.

Instead she stepped back, until she had the room to face them both down, her Wardens coming with her. Utha gave her a strange look, empty and void of all emotion, and Eideann glared at her a moment. The Architect shook his head.

“It does not change what you are!” the Mother cried. “You took away that beautiful music! Left us with nothing!” Eideann felt a ripple of the Blightsong, sharp and dark and sickening, washing from Utha. She gritted her teeth.

“It was a mistake to free you,” the Architect replied. “It has left you with madness. I am truly sorry.” And then his gaze turned on Eideann, or what should have been his gaze beneath the pits of his eyeless mask. Eideann stared back, and her arm under her gauntlet felt like it were throbbing. She pushed back the wash of hate, to try and keep her mind clear.

“And so,” the Architect said quietly, “we meet again.” Eideann felt a hot rage trickle through her. Utha drew her sword. Eideann flipped her own in her hands, ready if it came to it. Instead, the Architect shook his head. “No, Utha,” he said, putting out a clawed arm that was not too different from the Mother’s. “That is not how this must begin.” Utha’s face was pitted with the Blight, dark black rotting rashes of it creeping across her flesh. That too was a future for her. Eideann felt the cold weight of fate settle on her shoulders, the tingle of anxiety prickling across her back. Her chest was rising and falling. She was breathing far too fast. She struggled to control it, and the Architect tilted his head ever so slightly to consider her. “I owe you an apology, Commander. When last we met, I intended to explain myself. Fate, however, intervened.” He came forward, floating not walking as the emissaries sometimes did, and she felt Anders and Nathaniel both stepped back behind her. Sigrun stood her ground at her side, but Eideann wanted nothing more than to retreat as well. She felt sweat trickle down the back of her neck, sliding into the nape of her Warden tunic, and she shook her head.

“I escaped, you mean,” she said coldly. The Architect drew closer, and Eideann stood her ground, determined to hold at least the semblance of bravery, lest all her Wardens try to run. Even Sigrun took a step back this time, though. Everything in Eideann’s head was screaming at her to run.

“I restrained you only to prevent the misunderstanding that occurred with the rest of your order,” the Architect said. Eideann’s lips parted a little so she could breathe as the creature drew close. He towered over her, so much so she had to look up to meet its face. She had seen ogres in armor, faced down an Archdemon, and yet this…this somehow felt worse. 

“Misunderstanding?” Anders hissed, his voice quivering. “Is _that_ what you call it.” In that moment, for those words and that small amount of strength, Eideann might have loved him.

“I sent the Withered to ask for the Grey Wardens’ help,” the Architect told them, his mouth a frown. One of his lips was held together with a ring, and the hat he wore seemed to be sprouting from the flesh of his face. “I should have anticipated that you might view our approach as an attack.” 

_It was an attack. They slaughtered the Wardens and all of the servants they could find. The Withered…that must be the one I met on the roof._ Eideann wet her lips as they twisted into a sneer. There was comfort to be had in sneers.

“I am rarely able to judge how your kind will react. It was most unfortunate,” the Architect said in the same deadpan tone. A flare of rage shot through her, jolting her into a response.

“Unfortunate?!” she roared, leaning forward, tilting her head back to bare her teeth at the darkspawn emissary’s face. “You took those men and bled them dry!” 

“The Grey Wardens that were brought to me were already dead,” the Architect said. Except that was a lie, because Keenan was alive, was he not? And still was alive thanks to their timely rescue and Oghren’s upper body strength. Maker’s blood, the creature was a manipulative liar. “I took their blood just as I took yours, because I had little choice.” The thought made her sick. “Things have not gone as I planned. I only ask that you hear me out. Should you still wish to slay me afterwards, you may try.” 

Hear him out? Was he as mad as the Mother. 

The Mother seemed to agree, because she gave a roar of anger and swayed, tentacles clenching tight. 

“The Father wants to destroy us all!” she spat, her jaw clenched. “The Father wants to rip us all from the beautiful music and send us into silence!” 

Maker, she would kill for some actual silence for a moment. The Blightsong was still screaming in her head. Eideann grimaced. 

“Shut the fuck up,” she spat at the Mother. That at least was something she was willing to do. The Mother was sedentary after all, and the tentacles could not reach her where she stood. The caccoons of Children had yet to erupt, probably because the Mother knew as well as she did that the moment someone made a move, the other two sides would instantly obliterate them. The Mother did not want her to side with the Architect, after all. And so the creature fell silent. And if she ever managed to make a Broodmother be quiet by shouting again, Eideann did not want to think about the state of the world should that day ever come.

The Architect pondered her, then took the silencing as permission to continue. Eideann turned her gaze back on him, eyes as cold as ice. 

“My kind has ever been driven to seek out the Old Gods,” he told her. “This is our nature. When we find one, a Blight is begun.” This was not news to her, but she pursed her lips and held her tongue. If it told her what in the Void it was doing, she might have a chance to stop it. All knowledge was worth having, and she needed ever advantage she could have. “Each time, we attack your surface lands, and you fight back until we are defeated. To break the cycle, my brethren must be freed of their compulsion. For that, I need Grey Warden blood.” His voice was like a hissing whisper, a throaty growl like words were harder to come by. Eideann stared at him, and shook her head. The creature gave a sigh. “In order to become what you are, you drink the blood of my kind to transform,” he explained. “Similarly, we must transform.” The thought filled her with a sickened, roiling sensation, and she lost herself a moment as she drew back. “I have created a version of your Joining that uses the blood of Grey Wardens.” Some of those darkspawn that could think and speak had drunk her blood. “You take the taint into yourself. What we take is your resistance.”

How did it know about the Joining? How did it know? Who had told it? Wardens? Utha? It had to be Utha. Eideann’s eyes slipped to the dwarven woman with disdain, and she let out a breath through her teeth. And then she let her eyes slip up to the Architect with anger.

“That is how my brethren are freed,” the Architect told her. “In your blood lies the key to their immunity against the call of the Old Gods.” He thought to end the cycle of the Blights. He thought to use the Grey Warden resistance to free the darkspawn. But it was no immunity, and the Blightsong that burned through her skull even now was enough to make her let out another low hiss. 

“But this doesn’t work how you think it works,” Eideann said coldly. She pointed without looking to the Mother. “There is your proof.” Her voice was quivering with anger now. She wished she could rein it in. It refused to be controlled or managed. It was filling her with fire. The Mother gave a deep cackle.

“It knows your foolishness, Father. He claims he wishes the darkspawn to be free. What he truly wants is to _correct_ them!”

“Once they are freed,” the Architect admitted, “the darkspawn think for themselves. They speak. They act. Some, however, have reacted poorly.” Eideann gave a scoffing laugh, and let her arm drop, sword still in her hand. Duty. Always Duty. “They are flawed, and they rage against me,” the Architect said quietly. “The Mother gathers them to stop me as she seeks to stop you.” He turned to consider the Mother a moment, then shook his head. “I cannot defeat the Mother alone, and I cannot free the darkspawn unless she is defeated.” He looked back to her. “Our goals at the same.” Eideann did laugh then, long and loud and clear, sounding as mad as the Mother.

“This reeks of stupid!” Sigrun declared. “The last thing we need is more darkspawn _thinking for themselves_!” 

“Darkspawn or no,” Nathaniel said softly, “he has a good point. Do we really want to keep killing each other forever?” 

“Help me kill the Mother, and after it is done, I will leave to continue my work,” the Architect said, focusing on Eideann. It was she who had the power to make this decision, after all. Eideann just shook her head.

“You have threatened my world before, several decades back at the Circle Tower of Ferelden. This is not the first of your plans to go awry. You don’t even know if the others wish to be free. I don’t think you know how you yourself came to be.”

“And how would they know, when the choice as been deprived of them? Without choice, there is only one path before them, and that leads to the Blight. I believe there is another way. I was born as I am,” he told her, “an outsider amongst my kind. Why? I do not know. Why do some of your kind become Grey Wardens?” His eyes flickered to Anders. “Why do some possess magic? I have no answers. I do not seek to rule my brethren,” he said quietly. “I only seek to release them from their chains.” 

“So none shall rule, none shall control the horde you would set loose,” Eideann said, drawing a breath through her nose. 

“We could stop this cycle of Blights and Old Gods,” Nathaniel said quietly behind her. Eideann felt herself pause.  
And what if the creature were correct? If it truly were as old as the tainting of the Black City itself, if that story were true, perhaps it was free of the compulsion because it was that old? Perhaps the end of Blights might truly mean peace. And if it did…if that is what that meant…

Maker, she was tired. She had spent too long in dark places, struggling to reach the light long gone. She had faced down horrors and terrors unimaginable, and all of it made her weary. 

She felt a thousand years old herself in that moment, weighed down the inevitability. She thought of the messenger that had come to Amaranthine, whom she had had killed for the trouble. He had chosen to bring the warning. He had chosen to help them. Maker, what if it really were so simple as giving them a choice.

The Blightsong echoed in her head. To live that way all your life? How could you endure it without going mad? It compelled, it pulsed, a heartbeat, a presence, and it made her head ache. A choice to be free of it? If it were done carefully? If it were done with the consent of those involved. If it were done…responsibly? Nathaniel was right. Could they really go on fighting forever?

 _First, and learn this well: Grey Wardens will do anything to end a Blight,_ Duncan had once said. She had learned it well, had made those sacrifices. She had sanctioned blood magic and the death of thousands to save Ferelden from Urthemiel. 

But this...here she had a choice. She could end the cycle, bring the corruption of the Old Gods and the spread of the taint to an end. All she had to do was agree. 

And the cost, paid in blood, would be nothing less than her soul.

How many lives would be lost to the taint on the surface? How many would fall to darkspawn that could think? And not just the surface…below it as well. As a Grey Warden, she owed her allegiance to all and none. What would the dwarves say, if the darkspawn could suddenly strategize? How soon would it be before Orzammar itself fell? 

As if she saw her hesitating, the Mother leaned forward towards them, tentacles swaying.

“Ah, but perhaps the Grey Warden would like to hear how it was that the _Father_ began the Blight?” Eideann felt something settle, a weight, in the pit of her stomach. She felt her blood run cold, the Blightsong echoing hauntingly, and blinked, looking over. The Mother was swaying, a knowing smile plastered on her face. Eideann swallowed, hard, the sense of dread filling her up until there was nothing left but that need to know.

“Tell me,” she murmured. The Mother smiled a half-smile and turned her eyes on the Architect.

“You want the source of the Archdemon, the one who brought all our kind to the surface? Here he is.” She put out her blackened arms. The Architect bowed his head, and Eideann glanced sidelong at him. 

“Ah. There it is, then,” the Architect said sadly. “Unfortunate.”  
The Architect looked to her. “I did find the Old God, Urthemiel,” he said, “But I did not wish another Blight. I attempted by Joining ritual. “My hope was that this would free all darkspawn, unravel the curse from its source. Alas, I was unlucky.”

Unfortunate? Unlucky? How many more things would be unfortunate? How many more lives could be written off by unfortunate? For once, in that, she also included her own, and that of her lost child, of her families. She dumped them all at his feet, spread them out lovingly one by one to be trodden into the filth by this beast. 

“I shall put it to you this way,” she said quietly, twisting about him, circling until the Architect was between her and the Mother. Utha at his side shifted warily, sword still drawn. “The darkspawn _are_ drawn to the Archdemons. But when there is no Archdemon, they still pollute the earth. You Blight the Archdemons, not the other way around. They are not the source. There are two left in all the world, Lusacan and Razikale, Mystery and Night. And when they have risen, what will happen then? The darkspawn will have no more Archdemons to follow? What will they follow instead?” She looked to the Mother a moment, then back to the Architect. “You presume that with the end of the Archdemons, there can be no more Blights, but there will still be darkspawn. And when there are no more Archdemons to distract them below the earth, where will they choose to go, once they are aimless? You say also that the Grey Warden blood is what will set them free, that our resistance can be theirs. Your Grey Warden friend has not be honest with you. There is no resistance. We too become the victims of the Blight. Even now I hear the singing echoing in my head, and it will not go away.”

“She hears the music?” the Mother asked, her voice suddenly longing. Eideann gave a low hiss, shaking her head.

“I am not immune the Blight. I am as tainted as any darkspawn, and one day I will die on those swords rather than join the ranks of the ghouls that serve them. Your Awakened darkspawn still sense me and mine. They can feel the taint in us, the Archdemon blood that was part of our Joining. They hear the song because it lives in us. And they are still tainted. They still spread the destruction of the Blight, but now they do so with a brain and the ability to think and to choose where it will do the most damage, and haven’t the past few months been proof enough that’s exactly what they do?! We do not battle the darkspawn because we hate the darkspawn and think them mindless forces of nature. We battle the darkspawn because everything they touch becomes corrupted and ruined, and it is no gift to have a Joining, but a curse. We corrupt ourselves to save others. A sacrifice is what we are.” Her eyes slipped to Utha. “Do you hear me? We make the hard choices to save others from the corruption of the Blight. What choice have you made, Utha, except to serve the Blight by helping it spread?” She shook her head. “No, I like my darkspawn mindless, and right where I know where to find them.” The Architect grimaced.

“How very unfortunate,” it said again, “but I cannot blame you. You are as bound to your nature as we are to ours.” He glanced down at the dwarf beside him. “I am sorry, Utha. It appears that I will not be able to keep my promise after all.” 

Eideann made the decision quickly, and it was an easy one. Against the backdrop of the Mother’s shrieks of laughter, she went for Utha first. The Mother was not going anywhere, could not go anywhere. These were the more dangerous foes.

She realized in that moment that Utha, greatsword in her hands, had once been a Silent Sister. Her eyes were full of an angry rage, red-rimmed with the Blight. Her mouth was firmly closed, and she did not make a sound as she fought, still clinging to those old ways. Eideann thought of Hanashan, of the Provings in Orzammar, and the massive scar on her thigh from the last Silent Sister she had battled, and learned from it.

Utha’s moves were much the same. Eideann now knew how to evade them.

She whipped King’s Justice and Duty about, metal ringing as they slammed together, parrying the first of the blows. It sent a jarring force down her arm. Utha had all the strength of a ghoul, and all the determination and ablity of a Grey Warden.

And then it began to rain fire.  
“You will have to forgive me, Commander, for fighting to preserve my destiny,” she heard the Architect call. The force of his spell was so powerful that Anders was forced to battle it directly with ice. Eideann felt the fire burn where it heated the metal of her armor, singe through her leathers, and she was lucky it did not catch her hair alight. She dove for cover as the Mother screamed in pain, fire reaching her tendrils. At the scream, the Children at last burst forth from their caccoons.

They were grubs, slow enough to evade, and barely new hatchlings. The Mother had sent all she had left against them on the surface and during their descent. 

Eideann barely managed to block another heavy swing from Utha, and then Sigrun came to her rescue. 

“Commander, get the emissary!” she called, and Eideann gave a nod, throwing herself clear and racing instead of the Architect. 

Sigrun met the Silent Sister Utha blow for blow, holding her ground.

“Warrior Caste,” she cried in anger, “cutting out your own tongue to make a sodding point! Try crawling in the dirt for scraps and selling every part of you you could just to get by!” Eideann caught sight of Utha being bowled over and grinned a little at the ferocity. “You cannot win against the Legion of the Dead!” 

Eideann forced herself up, and faced down the Architect. Anders had suppressed the fire, but now he was turning lightning on the grubs and was no longer able to help. Nathaniel had put some distance between them all and had his arrows trained to help her, but the Architect was buzzing with a shield of pure energy.

Eideann flung herself at it, felt it shatter across her in a shot of pain, and then kept going, driving at the creature with all her might.

“For the Grey Wardens!” she roared. “For Ferelden!” 

His arms came up to shoot a spell, it barely missed as she slammed her shoulder into his arm to knock it awry. The Mother roared, and the grubs drew closer, and there simply was no time.

She felt Duty sink in, sivlerite piercing grey flesh, and the Architect gave a cry of pain before swinging at her and forcing her back. Magic erupted, flooding across the floor, sending her flying, and she hit the wall hard, giving a groan, before forcing herself back up.

Nathaniel’s arrows were knocked aside with a single wave of the arm as the Architect descended upon her.

“You Blighted Urthemiel,” Eideann hissed, rising with effort. “But I killed Urthemiel. And I will not let you go free!” She gave a scream of effort, swung about and caught flesh again. Blood splattered, hot on her face, and the next spell hit her hard. She went down again, and again forced herself to rise, arms shaking as she did so.

“Commander!” Sigrun called out. Eideann’s eyes slipped to her, to Utha dashing towards her, and then she was moving. Utha drew back for the swing even as the Architect moved in close, and Eideann was flanked between the two.

And then she simply was not there. She moved, faster than she thought she should be able to, sliding under the Architect’s robes, sending it hurtling forward, even as the Silent Sister swung.

The silverite Warden blade found home, carving the Architect in two, and Eideann twisted, rising on one knee, and throwing herself forward again. Duty rammed through Utha’s foot, causing the Silent Sister to open her mouth in a mute cry. And then King’s Justice slammed through the Orlesian Warden plate and into her heart.

Utha stared at it a moment, and at the fallen Architect, and then carefully reached for the runes on the blade that had once belonged to King Maric Theirin. She traced them softly, then her eyes glazed, and finally, finally, she died.

Eideann slid her sword free, panting, and turned to the Mother, who was watching in delight. Anders slammed through another of the grubs and Sigrun hurried to help him, limping something fierce but determined all the same.

“Has the Grey Warden come now to slay the Mother too?” the Mother cackled. “Will she join the Father in oblivion?” Eideann, panting, covered in filth and blood, gave a mirthless sneer.

“You’re very perceptive,” she panted. “Now die!” 

“Then silence ends here!” the Mother cried. “Perhaps we will hear the Song again when we die? Oh, let it come! Let it come!” And her face opened with a giant shriek, mandibles like her Children, jagged darkspawn jaws that had once been human teeth exposed as Eideann threw herself into the fight.

It was nothing like Laryn, or the Broodmothers of Kal’Hirol. The Mother’s Children burst forth, determined to mount a final defense. The Mother herself put up her arms as tentacles erupted through the floor, dripping with stagnant seawater. Something glowed between her blackened, twisted hands, ribbons of crackling blue.

“Get down!” Anders cried, and Eideann listened, hitting the floor, as the force of magic erupted. A moment later and she would have been blown back across the chamber and slammed into the wall. Venom came next, green and spewing across them, and Eideann bent over on her knees, retching.

Maker, she was going to be sick again because of a Broodmother mage. 

A Broodmother mage. Where the fuck was Alistair when she needed him? 

She struggled to rise, exhaustion flooding her, and felt one of the Mother’s tentacles curling about her waist. She tried to beat it back, but could not, and it squeezed tightly about her, crushing her into her armor, leaving her gasping for air as she was lifted from the ground. 

Duty was too heavy. She let it fall, slip through her fingers. King’s Justice was already out of reach. She struggled, and the Mother hoisted her high into the air, drawing her closer towards her gaping maw and gritted teeth, cold eyes flashing red as spider legs squirmed uselessly at her back. 

And then that was all she could do. Eideann felt the impact of an arrow in the tentacle, but it was no use. Magic flooded the room, but the Mother forced it away. Sigrun was knocked back when she threw herself at the Mother’s lower half, trying desperately to cut her way through.

And Eideann simply hung there, limply, the Mother’s tentacle tight about her hips, and peered into the inhuman face.

“You have killed my Children!” she roared.

Eideann reached for her last weapon, the only thing she had that she could get to, and felt it light and sturdy in her hands. 

She had dug it from an ogre herself, hauled it free, and kept it safe. It had been a reminder of things lost, things at stake, and the price of failing.

She did not need reminding of what it was to fail anymore. She did not need to think on those that had been long since laid to rest. She closed her finger on the hilt, tears pricking her eyes, of fear and of hate and of the loss of so many things. And she drew it from where it lay at the small of her back, words floating back to her from across time and space, flooding her with memories.

_I came to your castle seeking a recruit. The darkspawn threat demands I leave with one. Truth be told, it was always you I preferred._

_The life we live is a hard one. We make many compromises in our sworn duty. But the rules are simple. First, and learn this one well, Grey Wardens will do anything to end a Blight. Anything. And second, our motto: in war, victory; in peace, vigilance; in death, sacrifice._

_Being a Grey Warden does not mean being a hero, or even following the Warden-Commander. It means doing what must be done whatever the cost, regardless of the consequences. That is why you are here. We cannot be the heroes of legend. The heroes of legend have never faced the darkspawn in the Deep Roads. They have never had to battle Archdemons. The heroes of legend would not survive a true Blight. Real Wardens survive, and we do what must be done._

She looked into the Mother’s eyes.

_I was almost a Mother myself once._

And she twisted, feeling something on her armor give, to ram the dagger home.

It plunged into the Mother’s jaw, and Eideann felt the crunch of teeth and bone breaking, the heat of her breath as she screamed, and the relief as the tentacle loosened and air flooded her lungs. 

And then she was thrown aside, and the Mother reared back, writhing and screaming. Eideann, still clinging to her dagger, forced herself up, panting, and then charged.

The dagger sunk in again, this time deep in her throat. Teeth caught on her gauntlet, a few even piercing the leather, and Eideann screamed too before the Mother threw her head back, and the dagger was torn from her hands.

She went sprawling across the floor, crawling hurredly backwards to escape as the Mother in her death throes swept the island with every appendage. 

And then, finally, she fell forward, drooping, and died.

Eideann froze, staring, and for a moment no one moved. She did not dare even breathe.

And then tears flooded her eyes and she felt Nathaniel and Anders and Sigrun join her on the ground, crouching, Sigrun hauling on her shoulder, Nathaniel wrapping her in his arms, Anders pouring all the magic he could into her to make sure she was alright.

It was the last of his magic. He downed his final vial of lyrium from Ser Rylien to cast it at all. And then he drew back, glaring at the Mother, and the remnants of Utha, at the Architect. Eideann looked up at him with weary eyes.

“I fucking hate the Deep Roads,” he finally said, and Nathaniel gave a wild laugh of relief, rising and hauling Anders into his arms, kissing him hard and full. Sigrun gave a mad chuckle too.

“I’m still alive,” she said in wonder. Eideann looked to her then, and nodded, equally as surprised.

“We all are,” she said softly.

And then, finally, she hung her head, allowing her weight to catch in her posture instead of holding it up. 

Maker, it hurt, everything, everywhere, and she felt so filthy she wanted to scrub half her skin off. She looked about the chamber, the massive towering stone cavern with the delicate pillars, the statues, and wondered. 

Tevinter? Perhaps. It looked it. And yet…maybe something else. 

And then she hung her head a moment before wearily pushing herself up. Nathaniel caught her hand, and Sigrun’s, and pulled the both of them to their feet, Sigrun still limping a little, until Anders had the chance to help her too.

Eideann collected King’s Justice, sliding it into her sheathe. Then she wiped clean Duty and did the same with that. She left Duncan’s dagger in the Mother’s maw, and turned her back on it all.

“What now?” Nathaniel asked her softly, wearily, as she drew alongside him.

“Now, Nate, we can finally go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES:  
> It's not yet over!
> 
> Some of the dialogue here is mixed between what happens if you side with the Architect versus what happens if you choose to kill the Architect in game. I wanted bits of both, and there was much more tension if the fight happened between all three. 
> 
> Next chapter coming soon! Thank you all my wonderful readers for your patience and your dedication! <3 This story wouldn't exist without you!
> 
> The Mother and the Architect:  
> None of the stuff about who she might have been before or whatnot is provable in canon, but like in all things I try to come up with plausible explanations for things, and this is the best I have for the Mother and her Children being weird and creepy. If you find yourself doubting the description, go take a look at adult Children or the Mother and you'll get a good idea where the theory itself comes from...number of legs, general approach, similarity to the thaig crawlers and such. For those who are wondering, the Mother does actually use magic in the fight against the Wardens, so that IS canon. :)
> 
> The Architect totally did wake up Urthemiel while trying to do a crazy Joining ritual. That's canon. Thanks Architect. His line "Things have not gone as I planned" kind of sums up his entire life, but more on that later ;) Promise.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann and her team begin their ascent to the surface; Alistair arrives in the Dragonbone Wastes; Alistair and Eideann are at last reunited; Eideann receives news from Cumberland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: violence, sex (not-explicit)

The very first thing she did was traipse down to the briny sea water at the edge of the island and gather up a handful of the opaque water to scrub at her face and hair. And then she dunked more over her armor to wash the worst of the venom and blight filth from the rest of her. It stung as she scrubbed it away with her hands, having hauled her gauntlets off to examine the bite mark on her arm. That too she scrubbed with brackish water, which made it ripple with pain and her give a sharp cry. But it was better than the alternative, possibly losing the hand. Anders joined her at the water’s edge, standing just shy of the lapping waves on the shore from Eideann’s disturbing the still waters. He took her hand and dug a few herbs from a pouch at his belt, working them over the wound to counteract the venom.

Her lungs were sore from breathing it in. Everything hurt from being squeezed. But there was no time to properly rest. While Anders wrapped a bandage about her hand – his magic was all gone – Eideann looked instead about the chamber.

The cavern itself was too late to scale, and the islands among it were few and far between aside from the main one near the entrance where the husk of the Mother now hung in death like a gnarled and twisted tree, tentacles deep roots that thrust down into the earth or lay flat and unmoving across the dirt. 

The way back was slick, but with their Warden boots and a bit of determination they could probably make it back up. Eideann cursed her luck for once that she had none of Dworkin’s explosives to set off and clear the tunnel of sludge. At the thought she gave a soft chuckle, and Anders looked to her in alarm. She smiled slightly, then looked about, making sure there were no other tunnels, no other cocoons to contend with. She wanted to make sure they had gotten them all, had eradicated the entire nest lest it grow larger again in the future. She did not want to leave without knowing that Drake’s Fall, at least, was clear of them. 

Somewhere nearby were entrances into the Deep Roads, or the tunnels that ran between them through cracks in the earth itself. Eideann could not find any there, though, and she doubted that she would without a full search. 

There was the matter of the Vigil too. It had been burning when they had first arrived. She needed to get back there, to see what could be done. Now, at least, she was positive that her message had not gotten through. The Vigil would fall without help, all the refugees with it. She grimaced and bent again as Anders released her hand, slicking her hair back with salty water and feeling it drying tight and dry on her skin. 

She looked out across the waters, wondering just how deep they went. Memories of Cadash Thaig floated up in her vision, and she pursed her lips, flicking the rest of the water from her hand. All of the Coastlands were a network of salty aquifers and underground pools and lakes, and it was no surprise to find the ruins flooded beneath the earth. 

Cadash Thaig had at least been beautiful, a den of green moss and surface plants taking seed in pockets of sunlight across the earth. It made her think of another green place, different waters dancing crystalline and clear in the sunlight. 

She closed her eyes a moment, imagining eyes like gold looking down on her, soft lips catching her own in the waters. 

_Is it too soon for this?_

She bowed her head at the memory and sighed.

“You know,” she heard Anders say softly nearby. “I once swam across Lake Calenhad from the docks at the Circle.” A quiet laugh gave her warning that Nathaniel was approaching. Her eyes snapping open, and pushed herself up to standing to look back.

“Are we ready?” Nathaniel asked, giving her a quiet look.

“Almost,” she said, then tore her gaze away, focusing on the fallen body of the Architect. 

All pleasant dreams were banished as she crossed to the corpse and bent to pluck from its neck a pendant with a twisting shape of tarnished metal, bronze perhaps. The medallion was solid metal, a strange shape reminiscent of a heart, but with sharp and jagged, intricate points. She held it up, and it warped the light a little from the shimmering of the salty pools about the cavern. Eideann narrowed her gaze, closed her fingers about it, and then tucked it into her pouch as she pushed herself back up. 

“Alright,” she said, glancing back to Nathaniel. “Tell me how we’re going to climb back out. The tunnel’s a nightmare.” Nathaniel gave her a grin.

“The Coastlands are basalt, and basalt is mostly porous, like a sponge. It’s the reason that gunk sticks to the walls around here in the first place.” He reached back to his quiver and drew an arrow. “These boots were made for the Deep Roads, and I think if we give ourselves some handholds, we’ll be able to climb back out the way we came. Once we’re on flatter surfaces, it won’t be a problem. It’s just that tunnel.” Eideann considered him a moment, then gave the slightest smile.

“It’s a shame we don’t have Dworkin about to blow the stuff off the walls, isn’t it?” she grinned and then sighed, crossing her arms. “Alright, Nate. We’ll do it your way,” she said simply, and he nodded, drawing forth a few more arrows.

“I’ll go first,” he suggested, “and try to get some good handholds in place.”

“I’ll take the rear so we don’t lose all your arrows,” Eideann told him, and then motioned for him. “Give it a try.”

It worked surprisingly well, when all was said and done. The arrows dug into the stone, catching, and holding because of the gunk in the walls, so in the end even that served a purpose. As they went, Eideann collected the arrows up behind her, yanking them free. She still had to leave a few that were just too stuck, but they ended up with most of them back. When they at last reached the top, Sigrun caught her arm and hauled her up, and Eideann pressed the arrows into Nathaniel’s hand with a satisfied look.

“Not bad, really,” she said with a weak smile.

But that was the least of it. They had yet to climb out of Drake’s Fall, and now the way was obvious and manageable, she had time to think. As they navigated the steps, her mind turned instead to Vigil’s Keep and the army that had been sent to destroy it. She was banking on Voldrik’s construction holding, on her Knights outlasting the forces of the darkspawn, but that was an army led by thinking, Awakened creatures, not beasts. She had built up the Vigil’s defenses to withstand darkspawn, but not to withstand armies that strategically laid siege to fortresses. The Vigil had been one of the first to fall to the Orlesians in the occupation, and was one of the last to be reclaimed. It was one of the oldest fortresses in Ferelden, and held its secrets close. She prayed to the Maker it would not fall, but the fires burning on the horizon had been enough to make it a slim hope.

She thought of those she had left behind to defend the people there and grimaced. Her feet led her up the first bridge as her mind wandered, trying to work out the math, trying to make sense of it. Where were Alistair and Fergus? Had snows in the passes held them up? Was the North Road blocked? What if the darkspawn had beseiged Soldier’s Peak too? She had no news from Seneschal Dryden, and she had only sent a single missive pleading for aid.

They should have been there by now. 

She gritted her teeth and pushed onward, feeling tight in her own skin from the briny wash. 

_No_ , she forced herself to think. _Whatever happens, Oghren will hold the Keep. Keenan will hold the Keep. Oghren is my bulwark and Keenan my right hand. They will not fall._ She tried to force the feelings of doubt away, but part of her had already decided that Alistair and Fergus would not have reached the Vigil in time. They were alone, defenseless, up above.

She glanced back and caught sight of Nathaniel and Anders walking behind her, weary and tired and grim faced. Nathaniel caught her eye.

“I’m worried,” he told her, and she nodded, because she was too.

“We will do all that we can,” she assured him. And he simply looked away towards his feet. An empty promise.

Eideann turned back, her heart pounding as they reached the first tower and slowly climbed the steps up through the corpses they had left in their wake. They were grim reminders of what threatened under the earth. She pushed the thought away, determined to focus, because if she went down into that darkness of ever eternal vigilance, she would never find peace again. She was tired, so tired.

 _In peace, vigilance._ She bowed her head as she climbed.

 _Duncan, leave me alone. What more do you want?_ she thought bitterly, surprised to be remembering him there and then. But he had been the Warden-Commander before her. It had been he who had brought her into this world. She, like he, needed agents working for her, people to reach where she could not. It was not longer enough to do things by herself. She had other responsibilities, other futures to seek. She would never stop being the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, and one day that fate would catch up with her again, but Maker, she was so tired. In her short tenure, how much had she seen above and beyond what Wardens should see? She closed her eyes as she topped the final landing and began towards the next bridge.

When she opened them again, letting out a low, long breath, she caught Sigrun watching her. 

“You look,” the Legionnaire said softly, “like you’ve made up your mind. They got that look sometimes, the Legionnaires, when they truly understood what our vow meant, when they accepted their fate. It was…a peaceful look, coming to terms with yourself.” She looked away. “I hope it’s something good, Commander.” 

“Just…putting things in perspective,” Eideann replied quietly. “Just trying to work out how this ends.”

“The way it always does.” Sigrun’s eyes shone under the tattoos. “With another fight, until eventually we lose one.” Eideann shook her head.

“Not today, my friend.” She looked to the woman then, past the tattoos and into her eyes, and saw the Legionnaire who had stood with her in Cadash Thaig bearing witness to the sacrifices there. “Thank you, for being here for this, for helping me.”

“You do a lot of good work in the Deep Roads, Commander, and most of it even when you didn’t have to,” the dwarf told her quietly after a moment. She fixed her eyes on the path ahead. “You gave the Legion Bownammar again, and one day I’ll go to the Stone in those halls. You gave the Casteless a chance to fight, and the dwarves a chance to live. You gave us back Cadash Thaig, Ortan Thaig, Caridin’s Cross, and soon Kal’Hirol. And you take in those that are tired of fighting, or frightened and scared, and you pull them back from the brink, make them see sense. It isn’t easy, doing what you do, what any of us do, but no one walks this path alone.” 

_Be as loyal as you can to your brothers, even knowing that one day you shall share their deaths._ Riordan’s voice echoed in her head, and Eideann wet her lips, tasting a little salt from the briny water she had used to scrub at her face.

“The Vigil will stand,” she said softly. “There’s only one more fight.” 

“I think,” Anders said from behind her, giving her a knowing look, “you’ll be saying that for the rest of your life.” Eideann sighed, but shook her head.

“Your cat is in that fortress,” Nathaniel reminded him, “and a great many refugees and friends.” 

“Onward then,” Anders said, a small smile touching his lips, and Nathaniel nodded. His hand crept into his, both covered in filth and dirt, but gentle all the same. “We shall show up just in time and remind everyone we’re heroes.” Nathaniel gave a soft chuckle, and Sigrun grinned with half her mouth, but the air was thick with the dark solemnity of helplessness. 

And then Eideann felt a familiar sensation, a gentle murmur in the back of her mind, off-key or warped. She closed her eyes and focused, and then drew a deep breath.

 _Not now,_ she thought, feeling another wave of exhaustion settle over her. _Please, Maker, no._ But the song did not go away. So instead she forced herself to come to terms with the truth of it, and she looked back at the Wardens following her.

“There’s more ahead,” she said softly. “Higher up, near the entrance I think.” Anders looked weary, and Nate grimaced. 

“Then I’m leading,” Sigrun said decisively, glancing to the others. “I’ve got more experience than any of you facing darkspawn ambushes.” Eideann nodded, since it was true.

“Then be ready,” she told the others. “We don’t have much time.” She reached for her swords, drawing them slowly, and took the final flight of stairs.

***

The sands of the Dragonbone Wastes shifted under the horse’s hooves, damp with winter moisture. They left concave imprints, a trail leading back into the snows. They had run into one premade not far from the edge of the Wastes and there discovered a trio of horses that were tied under a copse of small trees along the edge of the Wastes. Those they had brought along, tied to some of the mounts near the back. 

There was a quiet wind that had settled over the plains, rustling their hair and threatening more snow. Alistair hoped that the clouds held, prayed to the Maker to give him time. Even the weather was against him. They had been in the elements for hours, hurrying northward as fast as they could, the warhounds Angus and Lucan on their heels. Teagan’s warbands had cleared most of the fleeing darkspawn, but even now there were a few to cut down, so far out, so far north. All of them were fleeing towards Drake’s Fall. Towards Eideann.

 _Why did the blighted woman have to go alone?!_ Alistair thought angrily, then shook his head and banished the thought. _Because she had no choice._

The thick warmth of his fur cloak hugged his throat, but his ears were cold as he led Dennet through the jagged bone and silt. The horse was weary beneath him, his shield strapped to the horse’s saddle. At his side, Lucan and Angus plodded along, sniffing warily at the air. Ahead, the bone-white Tevinter towers reached to pierce the sky at the edge of the wastes.

Alistair breathed deeply through his nose, feeling the chill in his nostrils, and then blinked, narrowing his eyes. He reined in Dennet, pausing to close his eyes and think as the horse danced under him. He heard the sound of other horses coming to a halt beside him: Fergus, Teagan, and the soldiers.

But it was Keenan who shifted in his saddle beside him and wearily leaned forward as Alistair opened his eyes.

“You feel it too?” the King asked, and Keenan met his gaze with a quiet nod. Alistair glanced back to the other Grey Warden, the Templar recruit who had literally undergone the Joining in the middle of a battle. That was a bit unorthodox, but probably a trick that they should have employed during the Battle of Denerim, all said and done. The Templar, Rolan, simply shook his head.

“What are you talking abut?” he asked shortly. Alistair sighed, glancing to Keenan instead of answering.

“Moving,” Keenan replied, and Alistair gave a nod. Moving indeed, something blighted coming their way, ahead and below. Given all they had seen, it was probably not friendly. 

He swung himself from Dennet’s back then, planting his boots deep in the snow. He drew his sword, just to be safe, but left the shield behind on the saddle and instead strode across the snowy field without it. Angus padded up the sandy path beside him, staying close. About them, the towers of Drake’s Fall were glinting grimly in the dim light as it filtered through the clouds. That was an emblem of all Tevinter’s glory, and the place Fergus’s scouts had told them Eideann had gone. That did not make him feel any better.

He felt the sand sticking to his feet as he crossed the paths, noting the footfalls of Eideann and her company having come this way. There were dead darkspawn as well, and he recognized the handiwork as hers. Eideann struck low and hard when she could, or else went straight for the head. 

He could feel the burning in his blood, the warning that something was coming. If it was not her…if it was not Eideann…Maker, that would mean he had lost her. He could sense nothing else about them, chest rising and falling beneath his armor. His head was pounding hard enough that his blood was rushing in his ears.

_Don’t panic. She always pulls through._

“I don’t like this,” he heard Teagan say from several paces back as Alistair climbed the final hill towards the source he was sensing. Below them amidst the ruins lay the bloodied corpse of a High Dragon. Alistair stopped in his tracks. 

Fergus was the one who caught up to him first, and he peered down at the dragon before giving a low whistle.

“Maker’s blood, look at it,” he murmured. Alistair glanced to him a moment, then carefully descended the other side of the hill, making his way towards the corpse. Angus ran ahead, sniffing about the body a moment before turning towards the nearest of the ruins with a low growl.

The dragon was almost half beheaded, deep cuts leaving its neck tattered and torn. Alistair took one look at it, thought of Urthemiel, and felt a wash of sickness come over him. 

“What did that?” Keenan asked. Alistair already knew. Eideann was the only one he knew with the swords that could make those cuts and the experience to know how to bring down a High Dragon with them. Arrows peppered its scales around its eyes, which stared blankly across the wastes. Alistair reached to wrench one free, fine arrowheads not darkspawn. He tossed it aside and grimaced.

“Eideann and those with her,” he answered and chanced a glance back. Fergus was staring at the beast, its blood pooling into the sands and tinging them red. His gaze flickered up to Alistair, a deep brown, and he shook his head a little.

“Then they went within the fortress,” he said quietly. Alistair paused, beyond that door he could feel the blighted thing moving his way. He grimaced. Fergus took a step forward, and there was a look of desperation in those eyes now. “Maker’s blood, please. My sister needs us. Please…you say you love her…don’t leave her in there with Maker knows what.” Alistair carefully reached to press his hand gently against the shoulder of Fergus’s breastplate and met the Teyrn’s eyes. They were the same shape as Eideann’s. He nodded.

“I won’t,” he swore, softly. Then he released Fergus, glanced to Keenan, and motioned with a tilt of his head to the door. “Are you ready for what is in there?” he asked softly. Keenan gave him a grim nod.

“Always, Constable.” Maker, well, at least it was better than Your Majesty. There was slightly less weight in being second in command. 

It was coming. He felt it there as he stepped towards the door. A handful, perhaps, if he could judge. He could definitely tell a few of them, perhaps four or five? He gritted his teeth.

“Be ready,” he said, and there was a ring of swords. At his side, Keenan drew his own, his stance awkward like he had settled into ranged fighting but chosen to be up front. 

And then the door burst open, a portal of darkness, and out of it, lightning fast, came the blighted creatures. One flew straight for Keenan, who twisted with a sharp hiss and reached to grab it. Small. With brown hair. Alistair had only a moment to register that before another was upon him, a clash of metal as their blades met between them.

And then he realized who it was he was standing blade to blade with. He froze, and so did she. Angus gave a bark, and Eideann knocked Alistair’s blade aside, instead throwing her arms about him and kissing him hard and long. He let Duncan’s sword fall, wrapped her tightly in his own arms, and spun her about, setting her down only to kiss her again, then again, his fingers rising to tangle into her hair. 

Maker, he felt an ache settle deep in his heart when he pulled back, meeting her tear-flooded eyes a moment before setting their foreheads together.

“Maker, I thought I’d lost you,” he gasped, feeling his voice catching in his own throat. “Again.” She clung to him, her own hands wrapping about his wrists, unwilling to let go. If it had not been for the silverite armor between them, they may have molded into one then and there. As he felt her shake her head violently against his own, her fingers shifted to tangle into the leather strapping of his gauntlets. Her own cuirass lacing was snapped, hanging loose, damaged and proof of the fight. 

“You came…” She sounded like hse had not expected it. “You came…thank the Maker, you came for me.” She pressed him into another kiss, tasting so much like Eideann it hurt, and he felt her tears, dripping onto his cheeks. 

And then the shudder of heaviness rocked the air about them, slamming down, and there was a cry of alarm. Alistair recognized it immediately, and broke away from Eideann in an instant to reclaim his sword, whip about, and grip Rolan by the collar of his Warden robes, pulling him up to face him.

“Dammit, what in the Void are you doing?!” 

“He is an apostate!” Rolan said, pointing, and Alistair glanced back to catch sight. 

“He is a _Warden_!” he said angrily, then tore his hand away from Rolan, pushing him back. “Teagan.” The Bann was there in a moment, a hand heavy on Rolan’s shoulder in warning. Alistair turned back to the other Wardens. The dwarf – it was Sigrun who had emerged first and plunged into Keenan – was glaring at the other Templar with anger. Alistair exchanged a look with Eideann, who shook her head.

“Alistair, the Vigil,” she said sharply. “There was an army…please tell me you brought men?” He gave a solemn nod.

“We took a lot of casualities, but they reached it in time to save those we could,” Keenan explained as Anders rose with a wince and an angry glare to his feet. There was another man helping him, a bow at his back. Alistair narrowed his eyes, then started as Fergus was the next to launch into an attack.

Maker, the Teyrn was quick. He closed the distance in an instant.

“Howe!” he spat in a cold tone, every line of his face tense.

How Eideann got between them, Alistair was not sure. But she did. She stood there, staring down her brother, the fire she was known for burning in her eyes. Maker it was good to see it again, after so long of flickering embers. That was his Eideann, born again from the ashes. 

“Fergus, you will leave this man alone,” she said, using her commanding voice. It was the same one that had flipped a Landsmeet. She levelled all that power at her brother now. “Nathaniel Howe is the Senior Warden of Vigil’s Keep and the Arl of Amaranthine, by royal decree.” Alistair blinked, glancing between Fergus and Eideann and the aforementioned Nathaniel. Even Nathaniel himself looked like it was news to him. Everyone stared a moment, and then Fergus’s eyes finally settled on his sister, and something in him shrank. He drew a deep breath, then sighed, sheathing his sword and shaking his head, reaching for her with his free hand. Her fingers caught his, and he pulled her close to tangle into an familiar embrace. Eideann let out a soft sigh, burying her head in Fergus’s chest and holding him as she had Alistair, as close as she possibly could.

“When we had word…” Fergus gasped, and there was a tension in his voice. Tears there too. He really had thought he had lost her for good then. Alistair softened, and Angus plodded over to nuzzle against the Couslands’ legs until Eideann’s hands sank into his fur.

“I did not know my messages would reach you in time,” Eideann admitted in a low, rough voice. Alistair glanced beyond them to where Anders and Nathaniel stood, both of them looking nervous.

He had the echo of Rendon Howe, the nose in particular, but his eyes were all Bryland, and the Brylands were some of Alistair and Eideann’s most faithful allies. Arl Leonas Bryland had earned his respect in the months at the end of the Blight and since. Alistair quirked a slight smile and slid his sword into its sheath, then extended a hand to Nathaniel, who was close enough to reach if he stepped forward.

“Arl Howe,” he said softly.

Nathaniel stared at the hand, and then he stared at Eideann, and then he shook his head. 

“No,” Nathaniel said sharply. “No…Cousland, you can’t just…you…” Eideann gave him a flat look, drawing out of Fergus’s arms and turning to face him. For someone so short she had a massive presence when she wanted to.

“I am Warden-Commander Eideann Cousland-Theirin, Queen of Ferelden,” she said with the usual amount of flare she used when throwing her titles about. It made Alistair smirk a little to hear it again. Maker, he had missed her. “You knew this was coming. You’ve known for weeks, ever since you asked me who I meant to sit that chair, Nate. Try to stop the inevitable.” Her eyes were sharp, but she had tangled her hands in Angus’s fur again, and the dog refused to leave her side. Still her dog then, not Alistairs, though for awhile he had wondered. Nathaniel just glared back.

“You think you know all the answers!” he shot back angrily. Alistair grinned and crossed his arms to watch. “You think I will play this political game of yours as well?! I won’t do it, Cousland! I wouldn’t play when you were a little girl in braids, and I won’t play now!” He shook his head at her. “You will not force me to clean up the mess you’ve left here!” But Eideann was adamant as usual.

“Amaranthine needs a Howe. You saw this coming ages ago,” she said again.

“I didn’t think you’d be fool enough to actually do it!” Nathaniel declared. “I don’t want to be Arl Howe!”

“She has made up her mind,” Alistair said with a small smile, shaking his head. He gave Nathaniel an apologetic look. “Once she decides someone needs to be sitting in a certain chair, she persists. No one knows that better than me.” Eideann beamed at him. Alistair sighed, but he was so relieved to see her alive and well that he could not banish his smile. Nathaniel gave him a quiet look, aching, and then bowed his head and glanced back to Eideann.

“Eideann, please…” She looked startled, like it was uncommon for him to use her real name.

“I need you here,” she said simply, softly, gently now, reaching to take Nathaniel’s hands in her own, a courtly gesture between nobles. Alistair had seen enough of the like over the past few months to be very familiar with that motion. Now, Eideann was using the tone she used when she was trying to convince people of things as well. Alistair rolled his eyes and a small smirk. “I need someone I can trust,” Eideann continued, “someone who knows these lands, these people, and knows what we have seen here, what the darkspawn are. I need someone who knows his duty and will do what must be done. Tell me another who can do those things and I shall name them instead, but you know as well as I there is no one else.” Fergus Cousland, watching the display, appeared a little unsettled.

“Eideann…” he said quietly. Eideann looked back with a regal gaze and proceeded to stare him down again until he finally sighed and nodded. Eideann smiled to him gently, her look all warmth and reassurance, and then she glanced back to Nathaniel Howe.

“Nathaniel Howe,” she said simply, “you are one of the most honorable men I have ever met. I trust your council on Amaranthine above all others. Few are closer to me than you, and those that are all stand witness right here and right now. Please, steward the lands for the Crown. Keep them safe as you have kept me safe.” Nathaniel scoffed, his eyebrow arching.

“You willingly drank poison. You followed some thinking darkspawn around an old mine because you had no better ideas at the time. You threw yourself at an angry Dalish elf who set an entire forest on fire for her vengeance, and then conscripted her. You reclaimed some dwarven thaig from four broodmothers and a slew of darkspawn when an entire Legion was slain trying to do the same. And you just killed a dragon so you could walk into an old ruin to kill more darkspawn, a Broodmother, and the emissary responsible for starting the Fifth Blight! You tell me this, Cousland, how have I _ever_ kept you safe?!” His voice was irritated. “You _insist_ on trying to _die_!”

“It is a terrible habit of hers,” Alistair said, filing away the list of things, though only the most recent events about an emissary starting a Blight and dragon-murdering was news to him. Instead, he reached to catch Eideann’s hand with a grin. She drew alongside him in her battered armor. “Luckily,” he added, “she’s quite bad at it, and has not managed to pull off a single mad plan of hers yet.” Eideann’s dark look just earned a small, playful smirk. He looked up to Nathaniel. “I am afraid, Arl Howe, you’re stuck with the position. The Warden-Commander has named you Warden-Lieutenant of Vigil’s Keep, and you’ll have your work cut out for you trying to get things done without the title to throw around as well.” At least he had learned that much from her. Nathaniel gave a quiet sigh, then gave a small nod. 

“As my King commands,” he said softly, and that, it appeared was that. Good. The shorter the better.

Eideann smiled, bending then to wrap her arms about Angus and bury her face in his fur in exhaustion.

Alistair turned towards the others, giving Teagan a nod, and Rolan gave a sour look until Alistair’s pointed stare sent him back on his way. Nathaniel and Anders warily watched him go, and then exchanged looks with Keenan. The Warden-Lieutenant, turned then, leading them towards the horses as he explained the situation.

“Oghren and Velanna need help, Anders. And without Velanna we can’t free…Justice. He’s trapped.” Keenan glanced to Eideann who had risen to join them, her eyes quiet, Angus at her feet panting. “Commander, the Seneschal fell defending the gates.” 

“How many did we lose?” she asked softly. Keenan looked solemnly between them, then gritted his teeth.

“Enough.” He focused again on Eideann. “We would be entirely lost if the Constable hadn’t shown up and brought his army down. But it will take time to rebuild. We lost a lot of structures, and a lot of good men.” Eideann gave a nod, biting at her lip.

“Then it is best we returned and helped any way we could,” she said. She glanced to Alistair, who nodded, and then reached for Dennet as they brought the retrieved horses forward. Eideann mounted her own Fereldan Forder beside him and then turned down the line, wearily leading the creature out the way they had come, giving the dragon a wide berth. 

Alistair rode beside her at the head of the column, and Fergus and Teagan took up some general position behind, followed by the other Wardens. Keenan was keeping a close eye on the newest, Rolan, and so was Sigrun, so Alistair reached his hand between the horses and Eideann took it with a tired stare.

“I’ve missed you, Eideann,” he murmured for her ears alone and she glanced to him with a quiet look. 

“And I you, Alistair,” she told him quietly. He nodded, letting it settle over him, a wave of warmth to push out the cold winter wind. Eideann glanced over her shoulder down the line, then back to him, never once releasing his head.

“Who is the one who attacked Anders?” she asked him softly. Alistair grimaced, looking away.

“Rolan. He’s brand new. As in, a day.” That itself was ominous enough. The man had taken a beating trying to beat a darkspawn mage. Keenan had filled him in on the details, how this Rolan had ended up a Warden. Alistair still was not sure what to make of it. The man was not particularly skilled, and he was a mage hunter not a vanguard warrior. Whatever skills he did have relied on stealth and tracking. Against darkspawn, a Templar was only useful if he could stand on the front line too. But Rolan had survived the Joining, however haphazard it had been, and they could not deny him a place now. Alistair was fairly sure Rolan half wished they would, but it was too late. To let him leave would be to set him loose on the world, a liability. 

“A lot can happen in a day,” Eideann said, her voice full of sad memories. “I was brand new at Ostagar, and an entire day changed everything there.” Alistair just gave a quiet nod, thinking back. And then he pushed through the darkness. “Eideann…are you…will you come home now?” He watched her out of the corner of his eye as her lips parted a little. She glanced to him with a heavy look. For a moment, he was afraid her answer was no, and the pain of that was like a knife. And then she blinked a few times, pushing away tears, and gave a quiet nod.

“Yes,” she breathed. He let a sigh of relief escape him.

“It’s…been lonely without you.”

“I know,” she murmured, and hung her head a little, but her fingers tightened on his. “I’m sorry, for all that has happened to push us apart.” He shook his head with a small smile.

“If things were perfect, we would never have even met,” he told her, an echo of older words. It was worth it to see a ghost of a smile settle over her face. There she was, behind that veil of weariness and sadness: his Eideann, strong and fierce and beautiful.

_I will never let her out of my sight again._

***

Eideann was tired when she finally slipped up the steps from the infirmary towards her chambers. Alistair had set about seeing to more of the business, and Eideann had not slept in days. 

There was too much to think on. She took the steps one at a time, a grimace on her face at her aching muscles. Behind her in the hall, Anders was doing his best with the last of his magic, and Nathaniel had not left his side even once, despite them both being just as exhausted.

Anders had taken one look at the Spirit of Justice trapped in Kristoff’s body under the tower, and marched into the hall for Velanna, who had no energy and had suffered significant injuries at the final gate during the siege. If he could heal her enough to get her moving, her mana could recover as she slept off the rest, but the morning was the earliest they could get the spirit out. 

That was a pressing concern, but not one she could help with anyway, so she stopped wasting valuable thinking space on worrying about it. Instead she reached into her pouch for the tarnished bronze medallion she had taken from the Architect, and pulled it forth as she climbed the steps. She studied its curves, trying to puzzle out its shape, its meaning, anything to give her some hint, but she suspected it may prove less use than she would prefer. 

She was so distracted, she did not see Nesiara until she nearly collided with the woman.

“My Lady!” the elven servant squeaked, and Eideann looked up in alarm, startled. She tucked the amulet away as Nesiara dropped a courtesy. “My Lady, is it done.”

“Maybe,” was the best answer Eideann had. Nesiara gave her a warm smile.

“My Lady, His Majesty asked we draw a bath for you.” Oh, thank the Maker for small mercies. “I have left your letters on your table, and laid out a clean gown.” Eideann blinked as the words took a moment to sink in. Then she shook her head a little.

“Letters?” 

“One from Enchanter Wynne,” Nesiara said, “and another from First Enchanter Fiona of Montsimmard. They were sent from Amaranthine this morning. They arrived on the first boat in.” Eideann climbed the rest of the steps much quicker after that.

She forewent the lovely bath only long enough to tear open the letters. Wynne’s was simply wishing her well, saying her letter was delivered and she hoped that her work in Amaranthine was not difficult. 

It was First Enchanter Fiona’s that really intrigued her. The writing was spidery, a schooled hand written hurriedly but neatly, in very small letters. 

_Commander Cousland-Theirin,_

_The Architect is one of the most dangerous darkspawn I have ever encountered. His plan during his attempt on the Circle Tower was to work with mages on the surface to spread the Blight to the entire world. If you are indeed battling him, be cautious. He works by trickery and manipulation. I cannot say what his new plan is, but he previously found a way to accelerate the Calling within Wardens, and eventually ended up with not one but two Warden-Commanders under his thrall and working against us. Maric, Duncan, and I were the only survivors._

_The Architect had no creatures under his command, merely darkspawn that lived in the area and were afraid of him. The idea he now has forces of thinking darkspawn is indeed troubling, and I can only advise you contact Weisshaupt directly with the news as they may have more information to give you. I have not been a Grey Warden for some time now. I hope you forgive me for not being more useful._

_I believe the Architect was looking for the prisons of the Old Gods, and I am convinced in myself he found that information in one of the Warden-Commanders. Take care, Commander. I have no more advice to give._

_First Enchanter Fiona, Circle of Montsimmard_

Eideann folded the letter, then let it drop to the table like it burned. She swallowed, hard, trying to process, and then realized she simply could not. She was just too tired. He mind had stopped working.

Instead she shed her damaged armor, her filthy Warden leathers and silks, and slipped into the water to wash the filth away. 

There was a knock at the door, and she glanced up as Alistair let himself in. He took liked tired. He considered her a moment, slowly working his scabbard from his waist and then setting it aside. 

“I see you found the bath,” he smiled softly, a little nervous suddenly, she realized. She sat in the tub, like she had the last time he was there, and gave him a soft sigh back. “Take your time.” He kicked off his boots and shed his own armor.

He busied himself with gathering it up and settling it on the armor rack in the corner of the chamber. And then he crossed to examine hers with a shake of his head.

“Look what you’ve done to it,” he lamented softly, looking back at her as she rose from the water, feeling much cleaner. The water itself was black from the grime of days of battle. Eideann carefully considered him, and he set down the armor instead, sighing. And then he reached for her, beckoning to her as he came towards the tub. She reached to catch his hand as he drew close, thinking he would help her step out. Instead he simply swept her up, bending to lift her from the waters into his arms. She gave a soft laugh and pressed a kiss to his mouth. 

“Maker,” he murmured. “Just for a moment. Let us just have us.” She smiled and reached to part the folds of his Warden tunic with her hand, like she had done before.

“Take me to bed,” she whispered in his ear, nuzzling into his shoulder, and he gave a smile.

And then he did. It felt like it used to, before Urthemiel had stolen their joy. It felt like peace and happiness and connection and most of all love. And every moment of it was serene and simple, like there truly was nothing else in the world.

Bit by bit they relearned one another, kisses and touches and quiet moans in the dim candlelight. And then, when finally they could bear no more, Alistair drew down to catch her mouth with his and carefully push within her. 

There was a rightness in it that drove everything else away. As they moved together, soft moans in the darkness, there was a finality to it as well. It was a promise, to stay that way, to never be parted again. Alistair bent over her, muscles tense as he returned home inside her. Eideann’s hands knotted in his short hair as she lost herself in them.

And when it was over and they were again made whole, there was no energy for anything else but sleep. Eideann settled there, bundled in the blankets of her bed, Alistair’s arms wrapped so close about her they burned like fire, and let the world ebb into the blackness of rest at last.

When she did finally wake, her mind was sharp, her senses tingling, her body still sore but sated all the same. She found Alistair still there with her, sitting now in the chair by the hearth, reading a book beside her. 

“I…thought you would be out and about,” she said, pushing herself up, gathering the blankets to cover herself. He gave her a small shake of head and the slightest of smiles.

“Not today,” he told her simply. “Today I do not leave your side.” She sighed, thinking of all the things to do, and nodded, grateful for that small comfort. “Besides,” he added grinning a little, “there’s a new Arl of Amaranthine who can tend to the Vigil, and two Warden-Lieutenants that are more than capable as well.” At that, Eideann felt a flood of relief, but also a niggling warning. Her smile faded and she carefully shifted to pull herself from the bed. She reached for the dress on the back of the chair, aware that Alistair was watching her, drinking in every inch of her as she slipped into her winter fur-lined gown, the simplest she had. 

“Alistair, I need to see all the Wardens,” she said quietly. And he nodded, shutting his book in a snap and setting it down on the chair as he rose, bending to kiss her cheek.

“As my Queen commands. I will see if I can’t cobble them together.” He turned for the door, and Eideann reached to catch his hand.

“Alistair?” He looked back, a question in his eyes. “I love you.” He smiled, kissing her in earnest now, a soft and tender kiss.

“Finish dressing, love,” he murmured. “We will be ready when you come downstairs.” And then he drew back, letting himself out, and Eideann gave a soft sigh.

It was time to share what she knew, to lay it out straight to them all: the battle was not yet over. In fact it was only just beginning, and if they wanted to win, if they wanted victory in this war, they would need all the knowledge, allies, and skill they could get.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eideann bids farewell to her Wardens; Anders and Velanna struggle to save Justice; Anders and Nathaniel finally have a chance to talk; Anders makes a decision; Saemus Dumar makes an unexpected friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: sex (explicit), violence, gore (mild), potential suicidal thoughts
> 
> Comments always welcome! :) 
> 
> Thank you all for reading so far. The next installment of Dances in Darkness will come in Book 6: Refugee! Stay tuned for more! As always, this is to all my lovely readers, without whom this world could not exist.

“Simply put,” Eideann said firmly, “the Architect was more dangerous that any other force the Blight has thrown against us yet, and if we accept the records we have as true, there is good reason to suspect that there are more like him out there somewhere.” And what it meant to admit that, she was not sure. She fixed her gaze on her Wardens, in various states of injury. Velanna and Oghren were the worst, but there was not a single one of them without injury, even Alistair. She stood before them in the small library, the fire roaring at her back and casting her shadow long and deep before her. She wet her lips.

“I don’t know what comes next, but I know our work is not yet done. Warden-Lieutenants Keenan and Nathaniel will be heading our operations here and at Soldier’s Peak. Each team will have a different objective.” She looked to Keenan. “The Peak has an operational efficiency that puts it in a prime position to respond to the needs of Orzammar. You have a team that specializes in hitting hard and hitting fast, and the opportunity to reclaim much of the Deep Roads. The goal is to reach Urthemiel’s prison, and maybe we find something there. Recruit whoever you need for this task. I need people who do damage and don’t let up in those tunnels.”Keenan gave her a quiet nod.

“Nathaniel,” she said softly, “politics.” He gave her a flat look and she quirked a small smile of apology. “You have connections in the Free Marches, and can reach the Wardens there, see if they know anything more about the Architect. Soldier’s Peak has a large archive, but it won’t give us all the answers. And I need those answers. You and I can use political connections to open doors, and we have to. If the Blights are ever going to end, it won’t be because we kill the Archdemons. There are darkspawn without them. We have to know why. And while Weisshaupt sits in the north and deals with its politics, we pay the price in blood for every moment we are not moving on this.” She looked to them all.

“I owe you everything. What you have all done, both in defending this keep and in facing these darkspawn – I cannot express the gratitude of Amaranthine, or of Ferelden itself for those. We lost a lot of good people, and we will honor their memory by making that sacrifice mean something. No one understands sacrifice like a Warden.” She raised her chin, nodding. “So, my friends. This is…where I thank you. I…couldn’t have done it without you. And going forward I will need your help. But from here…this is where we all go our separate ways, at least for now.” Her eyes flickered to Anders, who was standing with his arms crossed looking tired and drawn. She sighed. 

“I remain the Warden-Commander, and Alistair the Constable of the Grey. This is a duty that cannot be forsworn, and nor would I wish it. But you are our agents now, those that move and operate for us, and I have set you your mission.” She glanced to Alistair, who stood beside her, staring into the flames in the hearth, and it reminded her of the last time she had caught him doing as much, the day she had sent him to Morrigan. She felt the same sort of anxiety now, and grimaced. It was like…something was waiting, coming soon. She did not like the sensation. She forced it away.

“This afternoon, Alistair and I return to Denerim, where we can send further aid northward. These lands fall under the purview of the Teyrnir of Highever, and Teyrn Fergus will be remaining a little longer to assist in additional work. The rest…well, my friends, the rest I leave to you.” She glanced then to Alistair, who gave a small nod. And she hoped it was enough.

She was too tired to do more. Even after her sleeping. The last year and a half had changed her, more than she cared to admit. She looked at the faces of her Wardens one by one, Oghren’s solemn visage recognizing the weariness within her as she saw it now within him, Velanna cold and quiet, Keenan solemn. Anders was peering hard at the carpet, and Nathaniel had his arms crossed, looking grim-faced and a little resigned like usual. Rolan, the new one, was standing near the door, arms crossed. Sigrun was the one watching her with quiet eyes that spoke of sorrow.

“Off to be a queen then?” the dwarf said quietly, and Eideann drew a breath, offering a glum little smile.

“Duty calls,” she said softly, and Sigrun gave a quiet nod. 

“Call when you need me, Commander.” Eideann grinned.

“Look after Oghren.” And then she looked up. “I will…make overtures in Orlais, and see what I can find. I wish you all good luck.” And one by one they came then to thank her, to bid her farewell. 

Alistair stood by her throughout it all, and Eideann let her Wardens wander out first, holding a little bit of sadness at each that passed through that door, until only Nathaniel Howe stood there.

“So,” he said quietly, “you leave me to clean up your messes after all.” Eideann fixed him with a look.

“I’ll be a day’s ride south. And I know I’m leaving Amaranthine to the best hands.” Nathaniel glanced to Alistair then, giving a small bow of head, courtly to the last.

“You sure you want to marry her? She’s pretty awful you know.” Alistair just gave a soft chuckle, then a shrug.

“Too late now,” he smirked, and Nathaniel gave a small smile in return, then met Eideann’s eyes. And she reached to enclose him in an embrace.

“Take care, Cousland.” She nodded against his shoulder.

“And you, Howe.” And then she drew back, and Nathaniel gave Alistair another bow before turning away and leaving them the room. Alistair glanced to herr with a small smile.

“Home?” he asked quietly, and she finally gave a nod.

***

The day had left him exhausted. His work with Velanna the night before had proven useful enough to make her capable of rising from her hospital bed that morning, but not much more. She could manage a single spell, a single try.

Somehow they had done it, raised the tower, though that had taken hours of careful work as the bricks crumbled and fell. The body that the Spirit of Justice inhabited was now barely holding together, and he could not moved far. They had carried him inside the small jailhouse beside the keep – the closest building – where Anders set up a makeshift clinic for them alone, though what he could do for a corpse, he did not know.

Velanna, exhausted from the effort, sat with her back to the wall now, hunched over on the floor, one arm propped on a knee. Her head was hung, her hair greasy and stringy from too many days without washing. She looked like she had been dragged through the Void and back. It was late afternoon, and she had been up and helping for hours despite her own injuries.

“You should be resting now,” Anders said, and on the counter where they had laid him, Justice signaled his agreement with a soft, “hmm.”

“I have…to…be useful. I have to hold up my end.” Anders glanced to Kristoff’s body, then turned to Velanna, reaching for his magic to check over her recovery. She was still alive. That was something he could do. He crouched before her and she looked up with tired eyes, shaking a little at the effort of being up at all. He met her gaze, fierce and cold on his, and then sighed, letting a wash of magic run through her sending her tensing against the cold and hissing through her teeth. Her eyes slid to the Spirit of Justice. “What are we going to do about him?” she murmured so only he could hear. Anders swallowed, hard, and looked away a moment. 

“I don’t know.” He drew back, but Velanna reached to catch his arm, her nails clawing into his flesh as she gripped him hard.

“You’d better make up your mind, because I can’t help him, and our time is up, Anders.” Anders tore his arm away, giving her a quiet stare.

“I know,” he said softly, his voice harder now, and Velanna set her head back against the wall with a wince. 

Anders turned away, moving back towards the table. He was still sore from being battered down by the smite from earlier – fucking Templars now there too. He sighed, rolled his shoulder a little where it was jarred, and grimaced. Justice was watching him with dead eyes.

“Are you injured?” the mouth suddenly asked, a voice hoarse from rot. Anders looked away, shaking his head, and considering the body he could not mend before him.

“No. It’s nothing. Just…another bloody Templar…” 

“I understand,” the Spirit said, considering him, “that you struggle against your oppression mage.” Anders gave him a mirthless smirk, shaking his head.

“I _avoid_ my oppression,” he corrected, reaching for magic though he still did not know what to do about it, if anything. He just wanted to feel the weight of the spell within him. “That’s not quite the same thing is it?” How did one mend a broken back when there was no living flesh to mend? He did not like this. It felt too close to Nevarran Mortalitasi. This body was dead, and it should not be possessed at all. And he had no idea how to get Justice back to the Fade. 

“Why do you not strike a blow against your oppressors? Ensure they can do this to no one else?” Anders felt a ripple of anger. Even the Wardens had been no real escape. A cup of poison to sell your soul and no promise to even be safe in that danger. 

“It…sounds difficult,” he sighed, trying to focus, forcing the thoughts away.

“Apathy,” the Spirit said in a dark and weighty tone, throaty with the decay, “is a weakness.” Anders raised an eyebrow and fixed the dead eyes with a flat look.

“So it death. I’m just saying.” Justice stared back, did not laugh, did not turn away. It made Anders…uncomfortable. He did not like being stripped down by dead patients. There was too much beneath to go digging about now. 

“I believe,” the Spirit said, “you have a responsibility to your fellow mages. You have seen oppression and are now free. You must act to free those who remain oppressed.” Anders grimaced, turning away and letting the spell drop.

“Or, I could mind my own business,” he grumbled, his eyes falling on Velanna. She was not looking to him, head bowed, face hidden behind her hair. She had fallen asleep in exhaustion again. Wonderful. She had been his back-up in case the Spirit decided to make a move to homier accommodations.

“But this is not right. You have an obligation,” he heard at his back, and he gave a snort, shaking his head. 

“Yes, well…welcome to the world, spirit,” he replied. He turned away, sitting back against the counter and trying to think, trying to work out the best way to help at all. Maker, short of binding the spirit into a new body…

He closed his eyes.

“You are…concerned.” 

“You’re falling apart!” Anders said, looking over, arms crossed. “You can’t even move! And…you cannot keep just…walking around like that. We have to get you back somehow.” The Spirit was watching him, dead eyes haunting. 

“I am…frightened of being trapped as this body becomes dust.” There was a deep-seated sincerity in that. “The woman who was married to this man I inhabit deserves to have his remains. But I cannot leave them. I…do not know what will happen to me.” There was fear too. Anders knew that fear. 

“I’ll…I’ll think of something,” he said softly. “You don’t deserve…I’ll think of something.” He swallowed, then looked away. Velanna was watching him, eyes open again. Not asleep then, it seemed. 

“The Veil in thin across this keep,” she said quietly, “and easier then for spirits to slip across into our world.” Anders watched her warily.

“Do you know how we might send him back?” She shook her head quietly.

“No, but if I had the strength, I might know a way to move forward. It is an easy thing to bring the denizens into our world from the Beyond. I have done this before.”

“Your Sylvans, I recall.” Velanna nodded, eyes dark.

“Andruil guide me, I do not know if it is right, but this spirit is already trapped on this side of the Veil, and if we could find a willing host to carry him until we find a new way…” 

“Nate said the same thing,” Anders said coolly. “But that is possession, and whoever might volunteer becomes an abomination. They would be…hunted by the Chantry, and who knows what might happen to them, or to Justice?” He sighed. “I don’t…I don’t know. And I can’t just _ask_ someone to make that sacrifice.” He shook his head. Velanna had no more answers for him. She unfurled from the floor, carefully pushing herself up.

“Why are you still here then?” she asked quietly. “There are other people who need your help. I’ll…I’ll stay with him. Go and see to them.” Anders glanced to Justice who just stared back.

“I’ll come right back if I think of anything,” he said, and Velanna gave a quiet nod, then claimed his post at the counter as Anders bowed his head.

Outside the cold air of the late winter afternoon caught his breath in clouds of mist and dragged from him high into the air. He huddled close to ward off the cold, wishing for his Warden cloak with its fur lining that might keep the chill at bay. Instead he took the steps several at a time, hurrying up into the warmth of the Keep. It would be dark soon, he knew, and he did not have any desire to be caught in the cold. He hoped that there were fires in the bedrooms for that evening. He climbed the last of the steps and let himself in with a shudder.

The makeshift hospital still stood in the Great Hall. Anders crossed the red carpets to stand a moment before the fires, scanning the beds and healers still tending the wounded. They had already lost those they would lose, and a few of the back rooms had been converted to proper treatment centers for the more severely wounded. Out here were the minor patients. 

Anders crossed to a few, looking some of them over and chatting softly about nonsense. One was a young boy who had fallen and broken his arm fleeing. He was doing just fine, and for once it was nice to see patients that were not going to die on him. It made him sad to think that. 

At the far end of the hall, a small gathering of nobility – Eideann’s council established in Amaranthine – were gathered about the throne, still holding court. Anders narrowed his gaze and caught sight of Nathaniel at the back, trying to sort through all their complaints and needs with a grim face.

He was the Arl now. Eideann needed him there. And that…

Well, he was an Arl. And Anders was a mage. 

He dropped his eyes down and turned back to the patients a moment, moving along to the next one – a Silver Knight with a few cracked ribs and a nasty scar forthcoming from a jagged gash of a darkspawn blade. The woman was doing alright though as well, even if she did wince a little as she shifted. He poured some of his magic in after murmuring a small warning, carefully working to knit the flesh closed. The previous surgeons had done what they could without magic at all, but there was a benefit to being a healer.

_You are a healer, not a warrior._ He pursed his lips and then glanced up again towards the throne. Nathaniel was wearing that black outfit again, looking all the world like an Arl, and…Maker take it. 

No, he would have to think on it now. 

Nathaniel had asked him to stay. But…that had been before, before all this. Eideann had made him the Arl, and people were always watching. The Templars had hunted him down, and he had a family that could get hurt from that. And… and…

He pushed himself up and crossed to the next patient. 

He did not even know what he was going to make of all this in the end. He could not organize his own thoughts, his own desires. 

“Excuse me, Warden?” he looked up after the moment it took him to realize they meant him. A man in simple clothing stood nearby, looking nervous. “This…this came for you, Warden.” Anders blinked, looking to where the man was holding forth a letter. 

And then he saw the writing. He felt a chill go through him. For a moment he did nothing. And then he carefully reached for the letter, his hand shaking.

“I…thank you,” he said when he remembered, rising and staring at the front of the paper, where a neat, perfunctory handwriting stood out from the parchment. It was light, written quickly like always. Anders could not move. He held the paper in his hands, staring down at it with anxious eyes. 

Karl.

“Anders!” He started, his breath catching a little as he looked up to see Nathaniel crossing to him in a bid to escape the nobility on near the throne. Anders crushed the letter into the pocket of his robes and then drew a deep breath, grounding himself in the here and the now.

“Nate…” he said softly, forcing himself to focus. Nathaniel gave him a small smile, tilting his head towards the hall, his voice a low hum.

“Walk with me?” Anders glanced back to the nobles filtering out and then gave a quiet and tired nod. He could not keep avoiding this. He could not keep…running. 

Nathaniel picked a route that took them through older parts of the keep where there were fewer people. For awhile Anders was even lost, uncertain where they might be going, and they walked with an awkward silence between them.

“Did I…do something?” Nathaniel asked suddenly, quietly, warily. Anders’s head snapped up sharply, and he stared at Nathaniel.

“No…I…” he stammered before raking a hand through his hair. “No.” Nathaniel gave him a concerned look.

“I…scared you, didn’t I?” he finally said, “asking you to stay before. That was wrong, and I – ”

“Nate. Don’t.” Down the corridor the echoes of approaching staff, so Anders tucked himself inside a small corridor and Nathaniel followed, letting him lead. Maker, he did not even know where he was going. He did not even know where _this_ was going. He did not know what to think or what to do, and his name on a letter in his pocket was distracting. “I can’t…This isn’t the way this works,” his said with frustration. 

“The way what works?” Nathaniel asked. Anders did not answer. He could not answer. He had no answers himself. _This_ …this relationship…this tryst…was so different to everything that had come before. And just when he had started to feel comfortable in it, he found himself on unsolid ground again, struggling to keep the balance between his passion and his fear. Anders had no words to explain why Nathaniel was different than his experiences in the Circle. He could not even convince himself what his feelings were in the matter. And that letter, oh that letter… So he continued up the corridor, his mind racing, and the sound of footsteps behind him catching up was the only warning Anders had before Nathaniel caught his shoulder. “What are you talking about?” he asked, pulling him back to face him, to talk like normal human beings. Maker…

Anders reacted before he knew what he was doing. It swelled within him without warning, a wave of force that rippled through the air and forced Nate away from him, much harder than he had intended. Nate staggered back, loosing his footing and landing on his backside in the middle of the corridor. His eyes were wide in a disconcerted stare, and Anders realized then what he had done. He gasped, feeling a residual ripple of anger.

“I…sorry…I…” he stammered, and then he tore away, unable to meet Nathaniel’s eyes. Maker, now he was reacting to just…He forced himself to take a deep breath. Behind him he heard Nathaniel push himself to his feet.

“No, I…Anders, I...it’s fine. Just…” Anders felt a wrench at his heart, tugging it sideways, and he shook his head. Nathaniel carefully took a step towards him. “I thought that this was something you wanted…”

“I do!” Anders said, whipping about. “I want…you. I want you.” He met the grey gaze trying to understand his reticence. How could it? How could Nate ever recognize the parts of him that had died in the tower over the years? And now…Karl…and Justice…and... He buried his head in his hands a moment to regain some composure. “In the Circle, things are different. There isn’t…this. And I don’t know how to do…this. I don’t know how to _be_ this.” He looked up. “And Maker, I’m fucking scared.” Nathaniel relaxed then.

“Me too,” he admitted. “For so many reasons. But if this is where you want to be, I want you to stay, Anders.” Anders shook his head. How could this man understand what it was that stood between them? He had no concept of all the things a half-life takes from you. He had no concept of all the darkness that creeps over a soul. And he did not understand what it was that he was asking.

“I’m a _mage_ ,” he said, tasting the word like poison on his tongue. Maker, no, that’s not what this was…and yet...in so many ways it was what stood between them. “You’re the Arl of Denerim, and I’d just be…your _mage_ lover. How much shit is that going to cause you, Nate? I can’t do that to you.” It was the safe answer, one of many, and no less true for it. Anders was done being chained in darkness by labels. 

His mind was on Karl, the letter in his pocket that ached for his touch, and he gritted his teeth. 

Nathaniel’s eyes were quiet.

“Don’t you think I should have a little say in what you do or do not end up doing to me?” It was a surprise to hear it from Nathaniel, who was forever advocating staying _out_ of trouble. Anders gave a wild laugh, shaking his head and looking away.

“Maker, Nate, you have no idea…” 

“Then show me.” His voice was quiet, not laughing or mocking or teasing. Anders felt his smile slip, and he glanced back. Nathaniel’s look was solemn under his gaze. 

“Nate…” Anders murmured, starting to shake his head, but Nathaniel closed the distance between them. Anders backed up until his back hit the wall, and Nathaniel drew closer still.

“Don’t you have any idea how much I’ve wanted you?” the man murmured. “The Maker can take the Arling. All I want, all I need, is you.” Anders reached to put a hand between them, intending at first to push him away. This foolish little noble boy thinking he could change the world and make it all okay. But then his fingers curled into a fist in the Arl’s doublet instead, and he leaned in then to catch Nathaniel’s mouth with his own, his breaths coming in short, audible snatches. It did not matter. He did not care. Not anymore. This…this was what he knew, on a fundamental level. This was something he wanted.

“Nate,” he gasped, tearing away, leaning back into the wall and pressing the Arl back a little. “This is only going to end in tears.” Nathaniel smirked and Anders sighed. “Fine, but we can’t do this here. Not…not the first time.” Nathaniel drew back a little, giving a laugh.

“I should be flattered,” he said with a smirk, “that you think I’m going to be good enough to try this again.” Anders gave a soft smile and caught the Arl’s hand between them. 

Nathaniel drew him back, down the corridor, through the back ways towards the bedchambers via the servant’s passages. For the first time, Anders felt a little nervous then, unsure if he should head back to his own chambers or Nathaniel’s. The other man solved the problem for him, leading him towards his own rooms. 

Nathaniel’s back hit the door and he pushed it open behind him. Within the room was dimly lit, the last of the daylight streaming through the window now, but the flickering hearth was emitting enough to cast deep umber shadows across the chamber. Anders looked around and then a small smile escaped him.

“You absolutely slept in this room as a kid, right?” he teased. Nathaniel scowled and pulled back to shut the door, and as he did there was a soft mewling noise as Ser Pounce-a-Lot snuck in just in time. Anders bent with a smile to scratch the cat’s ears, then looked about as the cat slinked off under the bed. A soft sigh escaped him, and he rose again from his crouch. “It…seems like you.” Nathaniel looked about and Anders caught the nervous look in his eyes. “I can still leave,” he suggested, though he definitely did not want to. He had made his choice. And this…this would help him forget. This was Nathaniel, and the foolish little noble boy wanted it just as much as he did. Maybe it was not so different from the Circle after all. 

Nathaniel just shook his head.

“Just…not sure what to do,” he replied. He looked embarrassed, and Anders rose to reach and catch his arm.

“Then as you said, let me show you.” He forced himself to slow everything down, though his heart was pounding and fierce. He could take his time. He wanted to. No one was going to intrude, not here, and the night was only just falling.

He reached first for the laces of the man’s doublet, carefully sliding them open and catching the quiet, wanting look in Nathaniel’s eyes as he watching his hands work. He could hear the man’s nervous breathing catching in the space between them. And finally he gave the slightest smile.

He did it because he wanted to, because in that moment he could push all the rest away. And if he paid for it later, so be it. 

He leaned to catch Nathaniel’s mouth and slide his doublet from his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. He pulled Nathaniel back towards the bed, turning to gently push him down into the mattress and shed his shirt from his torso in on motion. And then the Arl sat, gazing up at him, eyes dark with desire. Anders drew a deeper breath, scanning the lines of him, and then carefully reached to unbuckle the belt over his Warden tunic. He dug into the attached pouch for a vial of slick oil before letting it all slip to join Nate’s shirt and doublet in a heap. And then he joined Nathaniel on the bed.

There was something easy about being lost in the middle of it, something that made everything else fade away for a moment. There was the soft taste of him that stole away his sense, and the sound of their breathing mingling between them. Nathaniel was all hard lines and muscle, archer’s arms, and callouses on the pads of his fingers from so many years drawing a bow. 

Nathaniel met his eyes through his lashes, lips parted.

“Anders…I…” Anders silenced him with a kiss. 

“Trust me?” he said quietly, and Nathaniel’s eyes met his before he gave a nod. “Then just…let me…” And he reached to shed the rest of their clothes and toss them aside with the rest. 

The bottle of oil he had dug from his bag was all they needed for the rest. Anders was no novice when it came to such things. He was quick when he needed to be, too many times tucked in corners in the Circle. But he went slow now, because Nathaniel needed it to be slow. 

His hand found Nathaniel’s length, and his fingers curled about it as he gave a heated sigh. A strangled sort of moan escaped Nathaniel, and Anders grinned before leaning down to kiss him again.

“Been awhile?” he asked with a smirk. Nathaniel pried open his eyes and gave him a glare.

“None of your bus – agh.” Nathaniel tipped his head back, tensing a little, and his hands crept up Anders’s thighs as he panted softly. “Maker…”

“Anders is fine,” the mage said in a low, throaty voice, and then reached for more of the oil, slick in his hand. They were really going to do this then. He sighed, a little relieved, after so long waiting and dancing around it. He liked to just get things over with. 

He shifted a little, straddling Nathaniel’s hips, and the other man’s eyes flickered open again. 

“Are you - ?” he asked before Anders silenced him with another kiss.

“Nate…shut up,” he murmured gently, and then set aside the bottle of oil and carefully moved into position. Maker, it had been awhile for him too. 

And then he was there, and Nathaniel was there, and oh holy Maker beyond. He felt a moan tear at his throat, low and deep, and closed his own eyes panting softly.

And then the little bastard moved. 

Oh, he was not new, or not as new as he claimed. He had his experience to add to the mix. Anders lost his control a little. He moaned appreciatively and leaned forward to press his face against Nathaniel’s neck. His breath, hot and heavy, warmed the Arl’s skin. And Nathaniel’s hands slipped down to pin their hips together. 

And then it was not about thinking or even knowing anymore. Just feeling. There was madness in it, a sort of desperate hungry need to be that close, to feel so much. And everything slipped away into the throes of their passion. 

Anders’s nails dragged down the muscled arms that held him, and coaxed a hiss from Nathaniel when they dug too deep. His other hand fisted into the long black hair, gripping tight, and he pulled Nathaniel’s mouth to his to taste him again. 

“Don’t stop,” he panted, pressing their foreheads together, “or I will never forgive you.” Nathaniel gave a soft laugh, then shifted. He tumbled them over on the mattress, pinning Anders beneath him, and gave a soft laugh.

“I won’t,” he said with a dark growl, and a moan escaped Anders as Nathaniel joined the fray in earnest. “Waited too damn long, didn’t we?” And then he picked up a faster rhythm, and there was no more room for talking. No more room for anything.

Until at last it was just too much even for that steady and heady motion. Anders moved to help himself as Nathaniel fell to gasping moans as he reached his limit. Nathaniel’s hand joined him there, and the man drew down to kiss him deeply, veiling them both in black locks that hid them from the world.

When it was done, Nathaniel lay, on arm behind his head, eyes closed, with his fingers tangled together with Anders atop the blankets. They did not speak. There were not words, not then, not with the weight of everything upon them. But for a few moments that seemed so long they stretched into eternity, the world was small enough just for the two of them.

Anders lay, curled into his side, staring at the flickering flames of the fire with quiet brown eyes. There was a soft mewling, and then the weight of a cat jumping up to join them. Ser Pounce-a-Lot peered at him with big eyes, until he reached to carefully stroke down the fur between the cat’s ears with a light smile.

“Damn thing thinks it lives in here,” Nathaniel murmured, and Anders gave a quiet laugh. He drew a deep breath then, closing his eyes a moment, and listening. 

Nathaniel drifted off not too long after, and Anders’s smile faded. He gave the cat curled against him a final stroke, then carefully shifted so as not to disturb the man who lay beside him. Ser Pounce-a-Lot’s eyes followed him, tail twitching, as he slipped from the bed and bent to gather his Warden tunic from the floor. He chanced a glance back at Nathaniel, just to be sure, and grinned a little at the sight of the man splayed across the pillows, lips parted, softly snoring a little. And then he drew forth his letter.

And of course, that changed everything.

All the concerns and all the cares came flooding back, and his anxiety too. He carefully broke the seal, and the familiar handwriting pierced through the years. 

His eyes skimmed the words and he felt a solemn chill settle over him.

He carefully crumpled the paper into a ball in his hands, then rose to commit it to the flames with a solemn look. He glanced at Nathaniel on the bed.

_I believe you have a responsibility…_ Justice had told him. And Nathaniel…well…it had been his idea, had it not? Out on the steps before they rode to war. 

He hung his head, fighting with the thoughts only a few more moments, before he realized he had already made up his mind. He reached to dress, quietly and carefully, watching Nathaniel sleeping soundly on his bed. And then, that done, he bent to pat Ser Pounce-a-Lot and murmur, “Look after him, Pounce,” before letting himself out.

He crossed the hall in the darkness, slipping into his own austere chambers to gather his bag and staff and throw on his cloak against the cold. And then he ghosted through the keep to the Great Hall. 

In the dim light of the embers flickering in the fire, he carefully navigated the costs of the dwindling hospital until he reached the door. He put his hand out to pull it open, and felt a wash of cold as he cracked it a little ajar. 

“Where are you going?” came a familiar voice, quiet and sharp in the darkness. He looked up, startled, and then sighed when he saw Velanna watching him with sharp eyes. 

“You already know,” he said softly. She shook her head at him.

“If you do this…” she said softly, concerned. He just sighed.

“Take care of Nate,” he said quietly, and Velanna gave him a quiet stare before finally giving a nod. 

“Be careful, Anders,” she said at last. “Stay safe.” And then he ducked his head and slipped into the night.

***

He woke to cold sheets, and a disgruntled cat curled against his pillow. His first thought was of the chill, and then he looked about, and it dawned on him then what was absent in that morning picture. 

He propped himself up on his elbow and his gaze fell on the floor beside the bed. Only his clothes lay there, no sign that Anders had ever been with him. 

No sign, that was, except a little bottle of oil that lay amidst the sheets. Nathaniel reached for it, holding it up to shine dully in the grey light of the dawn, and then he swallowed, hard, and lowered it down into his fist atop his chest. 

He did not need to look to know what it meant. He had known, perhaps…always known. So he lay there, trying to work his way through it, until his quiet contemplation and hurt was broken by the sound of shouting far below. He sighed, nudged Ser Pounce-a-Lot from the bed, and hurried to throw on his clothes and see what the commotion was.

When he finally reached the Great Hall, it was to find Captain Garavel and a few of the Silver Knights grimly gathered in a circle in intense discussion. Captain Garavel looked up at his approach, and then gave a bow, and that was when Nate knew.

“Who is it?” he asked, his voice quiet. Maker, don’t let it be…

“Warden Rolan, and a contingent of Templars, My Lord. Slain this morning in the woods.” Nathaniel felt a sense of dread, and he let his eyes slip silently to the other occupants of the hall before finally giving a grim nod.

“Who was responsible?” he asked in a low voice.

“Some…beast,” the Captain said, and Nathaniel grimaced before drawing breath.

“Then there’s nothing we can do,” he said decisively. “I’ll…inform the Queen personally.”

“My Lord?” Garavel said quietly. “The Spirit of Justice is gone as well.” Nathaniel closed his eyes, turning his face away, then gave a solemn nod.

“Thank you, Captain,” he finally said, turning, and then he paused before glancing back. “Captain?” Garavel gave him a soldier’s salute, fist over his heart. 

“My Lord?” Nathaniel looked him up and down, then sighed, because he had no better idea, no other moves, and he could not do it alone. Garavel was a good man, if at times a little zealous, and he had defended the Vigil twice with his life, and fought with them at Amaranthine City. Nathaniel drew a final breath and made up his mind.

“What do you feel about being Seneschal of Vigil’s Keep?” 

***

There was a quiet breeze that pulled at his black hair. The light of the early morning hung pale and thin before him, making the gritty sand seem white amidst the hills. Ships wrecked against the rocks within the reef stood quietly keeping their vigil over the rhythmic rush of the waves. About him, seagulls called, and he could not even think straight.

He did not want to think straight. He wanted to stop having to think at all. He wanted to be some normal son of some normal man. Surely there was nothing worse than mediocrity.

They had been fighting again, shouts echoing through the Keep. It was over something stupid, some nonsense that his father did not understand, like usual. They had been at it more and more since Nathaniel had left and he had run out of people to be angry to in private.

And so he had taken to running lately, to escaping the oppressive walls of the slaver city and vanishing into the Wounded Coast to think. He knew it was dangerous, that at any point there may be bandits or slavers or raiders to contend with. 

He did not care. 

He needed to escape it all, find a place where he could be himself, emerge from under that oppressive regime of foolishness and constraint. He was there to get away from the crumbling, decaying Kirkwall and a father who was both the most powerful and most pitiful man in Kirkwall. 

He was there to answer a question.

He kicked at the grit and gave a low hiss through his teeth, crossing his arms under his armpits and hunching his shoulders. He peered down into the crashing sea below, pondering the rhythm of its waves, watching as it crashed back and forth. There was something lulling about it. He inched his feet towards the edge of the cliff and peered down, his eyes narrowed, and gave a soft sigh, focusing on the calm.

He was not there to die. He was there to find the answer of how to live. But sometimes the two looked very much the same.

He did not even hear the man approach him. He only heard a voice, suddenly, quiet and deep and simple, enough to make him look back and catch sight of curving horns and white hair and solemn, somber eyes.

“Asit tal-eb. There is nothing to struggle against.” 

And that was all it took. 

**END DANCES IN DARKNESS BOOK 5: AMARANTHINE**  
[Dances in Darkness Series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/241561)  
Dances in Darkness - Book 6: Refugee coming soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rolan and the Templars:  
> If you want to know what this references, check out the Anders' short story [here](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Anders_%28short_story%29). I don't want to write things that already are written by Bioware's authors. 
> 
> SEE YOU NEXT BOOK! <3


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